Table of Contents

Held Fast For England

PREFACE.

CHAPTER 1: "SOMETHING LIKE AN ADVENTURE."

CHAPTER 2: A GREAT CHANGE.

CHAPTER 3: AN UNEXPECTED JOURNEY.

CHAPTER 4: PREPARATIONS FOR A VOYAGE.

CHAPTER 5: A FRENCH PRIVATEER.

CHAPTER 6: THE ROCK FORTRESS.

CHAPTER 7: TROUBLES AHEAD.

CHAPTER 8: THE SIEGE BEGINS.

CHAPTER 9: THE ANTELOPE.

CHAPTER 10: A CRUISE IN A PRIVATEER.

CHAPTER 11: CUTTING OUT A PRIZE.

CHAPTER 12: A RICH PRIZE.

CHAPTER 13: ORANGES AND LEMONS.

CHAPTER 14: A WELCOME CARGO.

CHAPTER 15: BOB'S MISSION.

CHAPTER 16: A CRUISE IN THE BRILLIANT.

CHAPTER 17: THE FLOATING BATTERIES.

Held Fast For England

PREFACE.

The Siege of Gibraltar stands almost alone in the annals of warfare, alike in its duration and in the immense preparations made, by the united powers of France and Spain, for the capture of the fortress. A greater number of guns were employed than in any operation up to that time; although in number, and still more in calibre, the artillery then used have in, modern times, been thrown into the shade by the sieges of Sebastopol and Paris. Gibraltar differs, however, from these sieges, inasmuch as the defence was a successful one and, indeed, at no period of the investment was the fortress in any danger of capture, save by hunger.

At that period England was not, as she afterwards became, invincible by sea; and as we were engaged at the same time in war with France, Spain, Holland, and the United States, it was only occasionally that a fleet could be spared to bring succour and provisions to the beleaguered garrison. Scurvy was the direst enemy of the defenders. The art of preserving meat in tins had not been discovered, and they were forced to subsist almost entirely upon salt meat. During the first year of the siege the supply of fresh vegetables was scanty, in the extreme, and the garrison consequently suffered so severely, from scurvy, that at one time scarcely half of the men of the garrison were strong enough to carry a firelock, and perform their duty. The providential capture of a vessel laden with oranges and lemons checked the ravages of the scourge; and the successful efforts of the garrison to raise vegetables prevented it from ever, afterwards, getting a firm hold upon them.

In such a siege there was but little scope for deeds of individual gallantry. It was a long monotony of hardship and suffering, nobly endured, and terminating in one of the greatest triumphs ever recorded in the long roll of British victories.

G. A. Henty.

CHAPTER 1: "SOMETHING LIKE AN ADVENTURE."

Had Mr. Tulloch, the headmaster and proprietor of a large school at Putney, been asked which was the most troublesome boy in his school, he would probably have replied, without hesitation, "Bob Repton."

But, being a just and fair-minded man, he would have hastened to qualify this remark, by adding:

"Most troublesome, but by no means the worst boy. You must understand that. He is always in scrapes, always in mischief. In all my experience I have never before come across a boy who had such an aptitude for getting into trouble; but I have nothing else to say against him. He is straightforward and manly. I have never known him to tell a lie, to screen himself. He is an example to many others in that way. I like the boy, in spite of the endless trouble he gives, and yet there is scarcely a day passes that I am not obliged to cane him; and even that does him no good, as far as I can see, for he seems to forget it, five minutes after it is over. I wonder, sometimes, if he has really got hardened, and doesn't feel it.

"He is sharp, and does his lessons well. I have no difficulty with him, on that score; but he is a perfect imp of mischief."

With such characteristics, it need hardly be said that Bob Repton was one of the most popular boys at Tulloch's school.

School life was, in those days—for it was in August, 1778, that Bob was at Tulloch's—a very different thing to what it is, at present. Learning was thrashed into boys. It was supposed that it could only be instilled in this manner; and although some masters were, of course, more tyrannical and brutal than others, the cane was everywhere in use, and that frequently. Lads, then, had far less liberty and fewer sports than at present; but as boys' spirits cannot be altogether suppressed, even by the use of the cane, they found vent in other ways, and there was much more mischief, and more breaking out of bounds, than now take place. Boys were less trusted, and more harshly treated; in consequence of which there was a kind of warfare between the masters and the boys, in which the masters, in spite of their canes, did not always get the best of it.

Bob Repton was nearly fifteen. He was short, rather than tall for his age, but squarely built and strong. His hair could never be got to lie down, but bristled aggressively over his head. His nose was inclined to turn up, his gray eyes had a merry, mischievous expression, and his lips were generally parted in a smile. A casual observer would have said that he was a happy-go-lucky, merry, impudent-looking lad; but he was more than this. He was shrewd, intelligent, and exceptionally plucky; always ready to do a good turn to others, and to take more than his fair share of blame, for every scrape he got into. He had fought many battles, and that with boys older than himself, but he had never been beaten. The opinion, generally, among the boys was that he did not feel pain and, being caned so frequently, such punishment as he got in a fight was a mere trifle to him.

He was a thorn in the side of Mr. Purfleet, the usher who was generally in charge of the playground; who had learned by long experience that, whenever Bob Repton was quiet, he was certain to be planning some special piece of mischief. The usher was sitting now on a bench, with a book in his hand; but his attention was, at present, directed to a group of four boys who had drawn together in a corner of the playground.

"There is Repton, again," he said to himself. "I wonder what he is plotting, now. That boy will be the death of me. I am quite sure it was he who put that eel in my bed, last week; though of course, I could not prove it."

Mr. Purfleet prided himself on his nerve. He had been telling the boys some stories he had read of snakes, in India; among them, one of an officer who, when seated at table, had felt a snake winding itself round his leg, and who sat for several minutes without moving, until some friends brought a saucer of milk and placed it near, when the snake uncurled itself and went to drink.

"It must have required a lot of nerve, Mr. Purfleet," Bob Repton had said, "to sit as quiet as that."

"Not at all, not at all," the usher replied, confidently. "It was the natural thing to do. A man should always be calm, in case of sudden danger, Bob. The first thought in his mind should be, 'What is this?' the second, 'What had best be done, under the circumstances?' and, these two things being decided, a man of courage will deal coolly with the danger. I should despise myself, if I were to act otherwise."

It was two nights later that the usher, having walked down between the two rows of beds in the dormitory, and seeing that all the boys were quiet, and apparently asleep, proceeded to his own bed, which was at the end of the room, and partly screened off from the rest by a curtain. No sooner did he disappear behind this than half a dozen heads were raised. An oil lamp burned at the end of the room, affording light for the usher to undress; and enabling him, as he lay in bed, to command a general, if somewhat faint view of the dormitory. Five minutes after Mr. Purfleet had disappeared behind the curtain, the watching eyes saw the clothes at the end of the bed pulled down, and caught a partial view of Mr. Purfleet as he climbed in. A second later there was a yell of terror, and the usher leapt from the bed. Instantly, the dormitory was in an uproar.

"What is it, Mr. Purfleet—what is the matter, sir?" and several of the boys sprang from their beds, and ran towards him; the only exceptions to the general excitement being the four or five who were in the secret. These lay shaking with suppressed laughter, with the bedclothes or the corner of a pillow thrust into their mouths, to prevent them from breaking out into screams of delight.

"What is it, sir?"

It was some time before the usher could recover himself sufficiently to explain.

"There is a snake in my bed," he said.

"A snake!" the boys repeated, in astonishment, several of the more timid at once making off to their beds.

"Certainly, a snake," Mr. Purfleet panted. "I put my legs down, and they came against something cold, and it began to twist about. In a moment, if I had not leapt out, I should no doubt have received a fatal wound."

"Where did it come from?"

"What is to be done?"

And a variety of other questions burst from the boys.

"I will run down and get three or four hockey sticks, Mr. Purfleet," one of the elder boys said.

"That will be the best plan, Mason. Quick, quick! There, do you see it moving, under the clothes?"

There was certainly something wriggling, so there was a general movement back from the bed.

"We had better hold the clothes down, Mr. Purfleet," Bob Repton said, pushing himself forward. "If it were to crawl out at the top, and get on to the floor, it might bite a dozen of us. I will hold the clothes down tight, on one side, if someone will hold them on the other."

One of the other boys came forward, and the clothes were stretched tightly across the bed, by the pillow. In a minute or two, Mason ran up with four hockey sticks.

"Now, you must be careful," Mr. Purfleet said, "because if it should get out, the consequences might be terrible. Now, then, four of you take the sticks, and all hit together, as hard as you can—now."

The sticks descended together. There was a violent writhing and contortion beneath the clothes, but the blows rained down fast and, in a very short time, all movement ceased.

"It must be dead, now," Bob Repton said. "I think we can look at it now, sir."

"Well, draw the clothes down very gently; boys, and be ready to strike again, if you see the least movement."

The clothes were drawn down, till the creature was visible.

"It must be a cobra," the usher said, looking at it from a distance. "It is thick and short. It must have escaped from somewhere. Be very careful, all of you."

Mason approached cautiously, to get a nearer view; and then exclaimed:

"Why, sir, it is an eel!"

There was a moment's silence, and then a perfect yell of laughter from the boys. For a moment the usher was dumbfounded, then he rallied.

"You will all go to your beds, at once," he said. "I shall report the matter to Mr. Tulloch, in the morning."

The boys retired, laughing, to their beds; but above the din the usher heard the words, in a muffled voice:

"A man should always be calm, in sudden danger."

Another voice, equally disguised, said:

"Yes, he should first ask himself 'What is this?' then 'What had best be done, under the circumstances?'"

A third voice then took it up:

"It follows that a man of courage will deal coolly with the danger."

Then there was a chorus of half a dozen voices:

"I should despise myself, if I were to act otherwise."

"Silence!" the usher shouted, rushing down the line between the beds. "I will thrash the first boy who speaks."

As Mr. Purfleet had one of the hockey sticks in his hand, the threat was sufficient to ensure silence.

To the relief of the two or three boys engaged in the affair, Mr. Purfleet made no report in the morning. Mr. Tulloch by no means spared the cane, but he always inquired before he flogged and, as the usher felt sure that the snake story would be brought forward, by way of excuse for the trick played upon him, he thought it better to drop it; making a mental note, however, that he would get even with Bob Repton, another time—for he made sure that he was at the bottom of the matter, especially as he had been one of those who had listened to the snake story.

Mr. Purfleet was held in but light respect by the boys. He was a pale young man, and looked as if he had been poorly fed, as a boy. He took the junior classes, and the belief was that he knew nothing of Latin.

Moffat, who took the upper classes, was much more severe, and sent up many more boys to be caned than did the junior usher; but the boys did not dislike him. Caning they considered their natural portion, and felt no ill will on that account; while they knew that Mr. Moffat was a capital scholar and, though strict, was always scrupulously just. Above all, he was not a sneak. If he reported them, he reported them openly, but brought no accusation against them behind their back; while Mr. Purfleet was always carrying tittle tattle to the headmaster. There was, therefore, little gratitude towards him for holding his tongue as to the eel; for the boys guessed the real reason of his silence, and put it down to dread of ridicule, and not to any kindliness of feeling.

"Purfleet would give sixpence to know what we are talking about, Bob," one of the group talking in the corner of the playground said.

"It is worth more than that, Jim; still, we shall have to be extra careful. He suspects it was our lot who played him the trick about the eel, and he will do his best to catch us out, in something.

"Well, as I was saying, Johnny Gibson has got a first-rate dog for rabbits, and he says there are lots of them up on the Common. I told him that I would come, and I expected two or three more; and we would meet him at the top of the hill, at four o'clock tomorrow morning. It will be getting light by that time. Of course, we shall get out in the usual way, and we can be back by half past six, and no one will be any the wiser. Old Thomas never comes down till a quarter to seven. I have heard him a dozen times. He just comes down in time to ring the bell for us to get up."

"Oh, I ain't afraid of Thomas," one of the others said, "but I am afraid of Purfleet."

"There need be no fear about him. He never wakes till the bell rings, and sleeps like a top. Why, he didn't wake, the other morning, when we had a scrimmage and you tumbled out of bed. Besides, we all sleep at the other end of the room and, even if he did wake up in the night, he wouldn't notice that we had gone; especially if we shoved something in the bed, to make a lump.

"My only fear is that we shan't wake. We ought to keep watch till it's time to get up, but I am sure we shouldn't keep awake. We must all make up our minds to wake at three, then one of us will be sure to do it. And mind, if one wakes, he must promise not to go to sleep again before he hears the hall clock strike, and knows what time it is. If it is before three, he can go off to sleep again. That way, one of us is sure to be awake, when it strikes three."

"I say, shan't we just be licked, if we are found out, Bob?"

"Of course we shall; but as we get licked pretty well every day, that won't make much difference, and we shall have had awful fun. Still, if any of you fellows don't like it, don't you go. I am going, but I don't want to persuade any of you."

"Of course we are going, if you are going, Bob. What are we going to do with the rabbits?"

"Oh, I settled Johnny Gibson should keep them. He is going to bring his dog, you know; besides, what could we do with them? We can't cook them, can we?"

As it was clear to all the party that this could not be managed, no objection was raised to this disposal of their game.

Bob Repton slept but little that night. They went to bed at eight, and he heard every hour strike after nine; dozing off occasionally, and waking up, each time, convinced that the clock would strike three next time. At last he heard the three welcome strokes, and at once got up and went to the beds of the other three boys.

They were all sound asleep, and required some shaking before they could be convinced that it was time to get up. Then each boy put his bolster in his bed, rolled up his night shirt into a ball and laid it on the pillow, and then partly covered it up with the clothes. Then they slipped on their shirts, breeches, and stockings and, taking their jackets and shoes in their hand, stole out of the door at their end of the room, and closed it behind them. They then crept downstairs to the room where their caps were kept, put on these and their jackets, and each boy got a hockey stick out of the cupboard in the corner in which they were kept. Then they very cautiously unfastened the shutter, raised the window, and slipped out. They pulled the shutter to behind them, closed the window, and then put on their shoes.

"That is managed first rate," Bob said. "There wasn't the least noise. I made sure Wharton would have dropped his shoes."

"Why should I drop them, more than anyone else?" Wharton asked in an aggrieved voice.

"I don't know, Billy. The idea occurred to me. I didn't think anyone else would do it, but I quite made up my mind that you would."

"Well, I wish you wouldn't be so fast about making up your mind, then," Wharton grumbled. "I ain't more clumsy than other people."

"You are all right," Jim Sankey put in. "Bob's only joking."

"Well, he might as well joke with somebody else, Jim. I don't see any joke in it."

"No, that is where the joke is, Billy," Bob said. "If you did see the joke, there wouldn't be any joke in it.

"Well, never mind, here is the walnut tree. Now, who will get over first?"

The walnut tree stood in the playground near the wall, and had often proved useful as a ladder to boys at Tulloch's. One of its branches extended over the wall and, from this, it was easy to drop down beyond it. The return was more difficult, and was only to be accomplished by means of an old ivy, which grew against the wall at some distance off. By its aid the wall could be scaled without much difficulty, and there was then the choice of dropping twelve feet into the playground, or of walking on the top of the wall until the walnut tree was reached.

Tulloch's stood some little distance along the Lower Richmond Road. There were but one or two houses, standing back from the road between it and the main road up the hill, and there was little fear of anyone being abroad at that time in the morning. There was, as yet, but a faint gleam of daylight in the sky; and it was dark in the road up the hill, as the trees growing in the grounds of the houses, on either side, stretched far over it.

"I say," Jim Sankey said, "won't it be a go, if Johnny Gibson isn't there, after all?"

"He will be up there by four," Bob said, confidently. "He said his father would be going out in his boat to fish, as soon as it began to be daylight—because the tide served at that hour—and that he would start, as soon as his father shoved off the boat.

"My eye, Jim, what is that ahead of us? It looks to me like a coach."

"It is a coach, or a carriage, or something of that sort."

"No, it isn't, it is a light cart. What can it be doing here, at this hour? Let us walk the other side of the road."

They crossed to the left, as they got abreast of the cart. A man, whom they had not noticed before, said sharply:

"You are about early."

"Yes, we are off to work," Bob replied, and they walked steadily on.

"He couldn't see what we were like," Jim Sankey said, when they had got a hundred yards further.

"Not he," Bob said. "I could not make out his figure at all, and it is darker on this side of the road than it is on the other.

"I say, you fellows, I think he is up to no good."

"What do you mean, Bob?"

"Well, what should a cart be standing on the hill for, at this time in the morning? That's Admiral Langton's, I know; the door is just where the cart was stopping."

"Well, what has that got to do with it, Bob? The cart won't do him any harm."

"No, but there may be some fellows with it, who may be breaking into his house."

"Do you think so, Bob?"

"Well, it seems likely to me it may be his house, or one of the others."

"Well, what are we to do, Bob?"

"I vote we see about it, Jim. We have pretty nearly half an hour to spare, now, before Johnny Gibson will come along. We have got our hockey sticks, you know."

"But suppose there shouldn't be any men there, Bob, and we should be caught in the grounds; They would think we were going to steal something."

"That would be a go," Bob said, "but there isn't likely to be anyone about, at half past three; and if there were, I don't suppose he would be able to catch us. But we must risk something, anyhow. It will be a bit of fun, and it will be better than waiting at the top of the hill, with nothing to do till, Johnny Gibson comes."

They were now past the wall in front of Admiral Langton's, and far out of sight of the man in the cart.

"There is some ivy on this wall," Bob said. "We can climb over it, by that. Then we will make our way along, until we can find some place where we can climb over into the admiral's garden."

"Perhaps there are some dogs about," Wharton objected.

"Well, if there are, they are most likely chained up. We must risk something.

"Well, here goes. If you don't like it, Wharton, you can stay behind."

So saying, he put his hockey stick between his teeth, and then proceeded to climb up the wall, by means of the ivy.

The wall was but nine feet high and, as soon as he gained the top, Bob said:

"Come on, you fellows. I am going to drop down."

In two minutes he was joined by the other three.

"There is a path, just beyond," Bob said; "let us go by that. Don't you fellows say a word. As Wharton says, there may be some dogs about."

Quietly they stole along the path, which ran parallel to the road, until it turned off at right angles.

"Now, the first tree that grows against the wall we will get over by," Bob whispered.

After going twenty yards, he stopped.

"This tree will do."

"But what are you going to do, if there should be some men?" Wharton asked, in a tone that showed he objected, altogether, to the proceeding.

"It depends upon how many of them there are," Bob replied. "Of course, the admiral has got some men in the house; and they will wake up, and help us, if we give the alarm. Anyhow, we ought to be able to be a match for two men, with these sticks, especially if we take them by surprise.

"What do you say, Jim?"

"I should think so," Jim replied. "Anyhow, if you are game to go on, I am.

"What do you say, Fullarton?"

"Oh, I am ready," Fullarton, who was a boy of few words, replied.

"Only, if there is anyone, Bob, and we get into a row with them, of course it will all come out about us; and then shan't we get it, just!"

"I suppose we shall," Bob admitted, "but I don't see we can help that.

"Well, we are in for it, now," and he began to climb the tree and, working along a limb which extended over the wall, he dropped down into the garden.

The others soon joined, Wharton being more afraid of staying behind, by himself, than of going with the rest.

"Now, what are we to do next?"

"I should say we ought to find out whether anyone has got into the house. That is the first thing. Then, if they have, we have got to try to wake up the people, and to frighten the men inside.

"Have you got some string in your pockets?"

"I have got some."

They all had string.

"What do you want string for, Bob?"

"String is always useful, Jim. We may want to tie their hands. But what I was thinking was, we might fasten it across the stairs, or some of the passages; and then set up a sudden shout, and they would think the watchmen had come, and would make a bolt; and when they got to the string over they would go, and then we would drop on them with these hockey sticks, before they could get up.

"Well, come on. There mayn't be anyone here, after all. Now we will go up to the house, and creep round."

The house stood thirty or forty yards away and, stepping as noiselessly as they could, the boys crossed the lawn and moved along the front. Suddenly, Tom Fullarton caught hold of Bob's arm.

"Look, Bob, there is a light in that room! Do you see—through the slit in the shutters?"

"So there is. Well, there is no mistake, now. There must be some fellows belonging to that cart inside. That must be the drawing room, or dining room, and they would never have lights there at this time of night.

"Now, let us find out where they got in. This is something like fun. It beats rabbit hunting all to nothing.

"Now mind, you fellows, if we do come upon them, and there is a fight, you remember the best place to hit, to begin with, is the ankle. You have only just got to fancy that it is a bung, and swipe at it with all your might. Anyone you hit there is sure to go down and, if he wants it, you can hit him over the head, afterwards.

"Now, come along. I expect they got in at the back of the house."

They soon came upon a door at the side of the house. It was open.

"That looks as if they had been let in," Bob whispered. "See, there is a light in there, somewhere! Come on.

"Now, let us take our shoes off."

The others were thoroughly excited now, and followed Bob without hesitation.

"Bob, is the key in the door?" Jim whispered.

"Yes, on the inside. They have been let in. I wish I dare lock it, and take the key away. Let me see if it turns easy."

Very gently he turned the key, and found the bolt shot noiselessly. It had doubtless been carefully oiled. He turned it again, shut the door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket.

Then they crept on tiptoe along the passage. At the end were two large chests, strengthened with iron bands. A lighted lantern stood upon them. Bob peered round the corner into the hall. No one was to be seen, but he heard a noise through an open door, from which came a stream of light.

Motioning the others to stand still, he crept forward noiselessly till he could look into the room. A man was occupied in packing some articles of massive plate, clocks, and other valuables into a sack. He was alone.

Bob made his way back to the others.

"There's only one fellow there," he said. "If there are any more, they are upstairs. Let us have this one first—his back is to the door.

"Now, Wharton, you hold our handkerchiefs and the string. If he don't look round, I will jump on his back and have him down.

"The moment he is down, you two throw yourselves on him, and you shove the handkerchiefs into his mouth, Wharton. In the surprise, he won't know that we are only boys; and we will tie his hands before he has time to resist.

"Now, come on."

They were all plucky boys—for Wharton, although less morally courageous than the others, was no coward, physically. Their stockinged feet made no sound, and the man heard nothing until Bob sprang on to his back, the force sending him down on to his face. Bob's arm was tightly round his throat; and the other two threw themselves upon him, each seizing an arm, while Wharton crammed two handkerchiefs into his mouth. The man's hands were dragged behind his back, as he lay on his face, and his wrists tied firmly together. He was rendered utterly helpless before he had recovered from the first shock of surprise.

"Tie his ankles together with the other two handkerchiefs," Bob said, still lying across him.

"That is right. You are sure they are tight? There, he will do, now. I must lock him in."

This was done.

"Now, then, let's go upstairs.

"Now, fasten this last piece of string across between the banisters, six or eight steps up.

"Make haste," he added, as a faint cry was heard, above.

It did not take a second to fasten the string at each end; and then, grasping their sticks, the boys sprang upstairs. On gaining the landing, they heard voices proceeding from a room along a corridor and, as they crept up to it, they heard a man's voice say, angrily:

"Now we ain't going to waste any more time. If you don't tell us where your money is, we will knock you and the girl on the head.

"No, you can't talk, but you can point out where it is. We know that you have got it.

"Very well, Bill, hit that young woman over the head with the butt of your pistol. Don't be afraid of hurting her.

"Ah! I thought you would change your mind. So it is under the bed.

"Look under, Dick. What is there?"

"A square box," another voice said.

"Well, haul it out."

"Come on," Bob Repton whispered to the others; "the moment we are in, shout."

He stood for a moment in the doorway. A man was standing, with his back to him, holding a pistol in his hand. Another, similarly armed, stood by the side of a young woman who, in a loose dressing gown, sat shrinking in an armchair, into which she had evidently been thrust. A third was in the act of crawling under the bed. An elderly man, in his nightshirt, was standing up. A gag had been thrust into his mouth; and he was tightly bound, by a cord round his waist, to one of the bedposts.

Bob sprang forward, whirling his hockey stick round his head, and giving a loud shout of "Down with the villains!" the others joining, at the top of their voices.

Before the man had time to turn round, Bob's stick fell, with all the boy's strength, upon his ankle; and he went down as if he had been shot, his pistol exploding as he fell. Bob raised his stick again and brought it down, with a swinging blow, on the robber's head.

The others had made a rush, together, towards the man standing by the lady. Taken utterly by surprise, he discharged his pistol at random, and then sprang towards the door. Two blows fell on him, and Sankey and Fullarton tried to grapple with him; but he burst through them, and rushed out.

Bob and Wharton sprang on the kneeling man, before he could gain his feet; and rolled him over, throwing themselves upon him. He was struggling furiously, and would soon have shaken them off, when the other boys sprang to their assistance.

"You help them, Jim. I will get this cord off!" Fullarton said and, running to the bed, began to unknot the cord that bound the admiral.

The ruffian on the ground was a very powerful man, and the three boys had the greatest difficulty in holding him down; till Fullarton slipped a noose round one of his ankles and then, jumping on the bed, hauled upon it with all his strength—the admiral giving his assistance.

"Get off him, he is safe!" he shouted; but the others had the greatest difficulty in shaking themselves free from the man—who had, fortunately, laid his pistol on the bed, before he crawled under it to get at the box.

Jim Sankey was the first to shake himself free from him and, seeing what Fullarton was doing, he jumped on to the bed and gave him his assistance and, in half a minute, the ruffian's leg was lashed to the bedpost, at a height of five feet from the ground.

Just as this was done there was a rush of feet outside; and three men, one holding a cutlass and the other two armed with pokers, ran into the room. It was fortunate they did so, for the man whom Bob had first felled was just rising to his feet; but he was at once struck down again, by a heavy blow over the head with the cutlass. By this time the admiral had torn off the bandage across his mouth.

"Another of them ran downstairs, Jackson. Give chase. We can deal with these fellows."

The three men rushed off.

"Well, I don't know who you are," the admiral went on, turning to the boys, "but you turned up at the nick of time; and I am deeply indebted to you, not only for saving my money—although I should not have liked to lose that—but for having captured these pirates.

"That villain has not hurt you much, I hope?" for both Bob and Jim Sankey were bleeding freely, from the face, from the heavy blows the robber had dealt them.

"No, sir, we are not hurt to speak of," Bob said. "We belong to Tulloch's school."

"To the school!" the admiral exclaimed. "What on earth are you doing here, at four o'clock in the morning?

"But never mind that now. What is it, Jackson, has he got away?"

"No, sir; he was lying in a heap, at the bottom of the stairs. There was a lanyard fastened across."

"We tied a string across, sir, as we came up," Bob explained.

"Well done, lads!

"Are there any more of them, Jackson?"

"Don't see any signs of any more, admiral. There are the two plate chests in the passage, as if they had been brought out from the butler's strong room, in readiness to take away."

"Where is the butler? He must have heard the pistol shots!" the admiral exclaimed angrily.

"He is not in his room, admiral. We looked in to bring him with us. The door was open, but he isn't there."

"There is another man in the drawing room, tied." Bob said. "He was putting a lot of things into a sack."

"The scoundrel! Perhaps that is the butler," the admiral said.

"Well, Emma, you had better go back to bed again.

"Jackson, you stand guard over these two villains here, and split their heads open, if they venture to move.

"Now, let us go and see to this other fellow."

The admiral proceeded downstairs, followed by the boys. The other two servants were standing beside the third robber, who was still insensible.

"You keep watch over him, John," the admiral said.

"William, you come with us. There is another man in the drawing room, but he is tied."

"There is the key, sir," Bob said, producing it. "We thought it safest to lock him up."

"Upon my word, young gentlemen, you seem to have thought of everything. If I were in command of a ship, I should like to have you all as midshipmen."

The door was opened. The man was still lying on the ground, but had rolled some distance from where they had left him. He had succeeded in getting his feet loosened from the handkerchief, but the whipcord round his wrists had resisted all his efforts to break or slacken it. He was panting heavily from the exertions he had made.

"It is Harper," the admiral said, in a tone of indignation and disgust.

"So, you treacherous scoundrel, it was you who let these men in, was it? Well, it is a hanging matter, my lad; and if any fellow deserves the rope, you do.

"You had better go and get some more cord, Williams, and tie all these four fellows up, securely. Let Jackson see to the knots.

"Where did the scoundrels get in?" he asked, turning to the boys.

"At the door at the end of the passage, sir, where the plate chests are standing. We found it open—here is the key of it. We locked it, after we came in, so as to prevent anyone from getting away.

"There is another man, with a cart, in the road."

"We will see to him, directly we have got the others all tied up safely," the admiral said. "That is the first thing to see to."

In five minutes, the four men were laid side by side in the hall, securely bound hand and foot.

"Now, Williams, you keep guard over them.

"Jackson, do you and John sally out. There is a cart standing outside the gate, and a fellow in it. Bring him in, and lay him alongside the others."

The boys followed the two men, to see the capture. The light had broadened out over the sky, and it was almost sunrise as they sallied out. They went quietly along, until they reached the gate—which stood ajar—then they flung it open and rushed out. To their disappointment, the cart was standing about fifty yards lower down the hill. The man was in it, with his whip in one hand and the reins in another, and was looking back; and the moment he saw them, he struck the horse and drove off at the top of his speed. The pace was such that it was hopeless for them to think of following him.

"I expect he heard the pistol shots," Jackson said, "and sheered off a bit, so as to be able to cut and run if he found his consorts were in trouble. Well, we cannot help it; we have taken four prizes out of the five, and I call that pretty fair."

"I think we had better go, now," Bob said. "We have got a friend waiting for us."

"Then he must wait a bit longer," Jackson said. "The admiral will want to ask you some more questions. But if your friend is anywhere near, one of you might run and tell him to back and fill a bit, till you come to him."

"Tell him to do what?" Jim Sankey asked.

"Tell him to wait a bit, lad."

"I will run up," Wharton said.

"Shall I tell him we shan't want him at all, today, Bob?"

"I think so, Wharton. You see it is four o'clock, now; and we mayn't be able to get away for half an hour, and it will be too late, then. Besides, Jim and I have been knocked about too much to care for rabbit hunting, now. You tell him we will go some other day."

"You needn't tell him that, Wharton," Fullarton put in. "It will be some time before we get a chance, you may be sure."

"All right! Tell him to go home then, Wharton. Tell him I will make it all right with him, for losing his morning's work. Of course, you will come in here, when you come down the hill again."

Wharton nodded, and started at a run up the hill; while his companions accompanied the two men into the house. The admiral was down in the hall again. He had now had time to add to his former, scanty costume.

"Get the shutters of the drawing room open, Jackson," he said, after hearing the report of the man's escape, "and tell the maids—I suppose they are all up—to light a fire and get some coffee ready, at once, and something to eat.

"Now, young gentlemen, sit down and tell me all about this business. Now, which of you will be spokesman?"

Jim nodded to Bob.

"It's his doing, sir. I mean about our coming in here. We should never have thought anything about the cart, if it hadn't been for Bob; and we didn't much like coming, only he pretty well made us, and he arranged it all."

"That's all rot," Bob said. "We were just all in it together, sir, and this is how it was."

And he told the whole story of what had taken place.

"Well, you couldn't have done better, if you had been officers in His Majesty's service," the admiral said. "You have saved me the loss of my two plate chests, of all the plate in this room—and that couldn't be counted in money, for they were most of the things given me, at different times, on service—and of 500 pounds I had in that box upstairs—altogether, at least 2000 pounds in money value. More than that, you prevented my being captured; and it would have been a sorer blow, to me, than the loss of the money, if those scoundrels had had their way, and had got off scot free.

"But you haven't told me, yet, how you happened to be going up the hill, at half past three o'clock in the morning. What on earth were you doing there? Surely your master does not allow you to ramble about, in the middle of the night."

"Well, no, sir, that is the worst of it," Bob said. "You see, I had arranged with one of the fishermen's boys, who has got a first-rate dog, that we could meet him upon the Common, and do some rabbit hunting. We slipped out from Tulloch's, and meant to have been back before anyone was up. And now I expect we shall get it nicely, because I suppose it must all come out."

The admiral laughed.

"You are four nice young scamps!" he said—for Wharton had rejoined them, before Bob had finished the story—"but it is not for me to blame you. It will certainly have to be told, lads, because you will have to appear as witnesses at the trial of these fellows; but I will go down myself, the first thing in the morning, and speak to your master."

"Thank you, sir," Bob said. "It won't make any difference about the thrashing; we are bound to get that. But we shan't mind that, we are pretty well accustomed to it. Still, if you speak for us, I expect we shall get off with that; otherwise I don't know what Tulloch would have done, when he found out that we had been slipping out at night."

"I expect it is not the first time you have done it?"

"Well, no, it is not, sir. We have been out two or three times, with one of the fishermen, in his boat."

"I expect you are nice young pickles," the admiral said. "Well, what time does school begin?"

"Half past seven, sir."

"Very well, then. I will be there at that hour, lads, and do my best for you. You see, with those faces of yours, you would be sure to be noticed, anyhow; and I hope you wouldn't, in any case, have been mean enough to screen yourselves by lying."

"That we shouldn't," Bob said. "I don't think there is a boy in the school who would tell a lie to Tulloch."

"That is right, lads. A gentleman will never tell a lie to screen himself, when he has got into a scrape. I wouldn't keep the smartest young officer in the service on board a ship of mine, if I caught him telling a lie; for I should know that he would not only be a blackguard, but a coward. Cowardice is at the bottom of half the lying of the world. I would overlook anything, except lying. Upon my word, I would rather that a boy were a thief than a liar.

"Well, here is breakfast. Now sit down and make yourselves at home, while I go up and see how my daughter is, after the fright she has had."

Half an hour later, after eating a hearty breakfast, the four boys started for school.

CHAPTER 2: A GREAT CHANGE.

It was just striking six when they again climbed over the wall, and descended by the tree. They had had a discussion whether they should wait until the doors were opened, and walk quietly in, or return as they left. They adopted the latter plan, because they thought that, if the matter was reported to Mr. Tulloch, he might proceed to administer punishment before the admiral arrived to give his version of the affair.

The door was still ajar. As they opened it, they gave an exclamation of surprise—for there, sitting on a chair in the passage, was Mr. Purfleet. He smiled unpleasantly.

"So here you are. You have had a pleasant ramble, no doubt; but I don't quite know what view Mr. Tulloch may take of it."

"It was very good of you to sit up for us, Mr. Purfleet," Bob said, quietly; "but you see, we had left the door open, and could have got in by ourselves. I hope you will not have caught cold, sitting there only in a dressing gown."

"You are an impudent young scamp!" Mr. Purfleet said, in a rage. "You will laugh with the other side of your mouth, presently. You and Sankey are nice-looking figures, ain't you, with your faces all cut and swollen?"

"We have been a little in the wars," Bob replied.

"I don't want to hear anything about it," the usher replied. "You will have to explain matters to Mr. Tulloch."

"So I suppose, Mr. Purfleet.

"Well, Jim, we'll go and have a good wash. The bell will be ringing, in half an hour."

So saying, Bob went into the lavatory, followed by his companions; while the usher returned upstairs. He was certainly disappointed. Quietly as the boys had dressed, the slight noise they had made in closing the door had woke him. He thought little of it but, just as he was going off to sleep again, he heard the bolts of the door below withdrawn. He at once got up and walked to the other end of the dormitory, and discovered that the four boys were missing.

Chuckling to himself that he should now be able to repay the grudge he owed to Bob, he put on his dressing gown and went downstairs; and had sat there for three hours, momentarily expecting their return. He had certainly felt chilly, but had borne it patiently; comforted by the joyful expectation of the utter dismay that would be felt, by the culprits, when they saw him. The meeting had not passed off at all as he had anticipated, and he could only console himself by thinking that his turn would come when he made his report to Mr. Tulloch.

The four boys did not return to the dormitory but, after they had washed, strolled about in the playground. There was quite a ferment, in the dormitory, when their absence was perceived, and the others noticed the four made-up figures in their place. The operation of dressing was got through with much greater alacrity than usual and, when they went downstairs and saw the four missing boys in the playground, these were at once surrounded by an excited throng. They refused, however, to answer any questions.

"You will hear it all, in good time," Bob said. "We have been out, and we have been caught. That is all I am going to tell you."

At the usual hour the bell rang, and the boys assembled in the schoolroom. The two ushers were in their places. They waited three or four minutes for Mr. Tulloch to appear; then the door opened, and the manservant entered and, walking up to Mr. Moffat, said a word or two. The latter nodded.

"Lessons will begin at once," he said, in a loud voice. "The first class will come up to me."

The boys of this class, who occupied the senior dormitory, at once began their lessons; while Mr. Purfleet took the lower class. The second class, including Bob and his friends, remained in their places. In a quarter of an hour the door opened, and Mr. Tulloch entered, accompanied by Admiral Langton. Mr. Tulloch was looking very serious, while the admiral looked hot and angry.

"We are going to catch it," Bob whispered, to Jim Sankey. "I knew the admiral wouldn't be able to get us off."

"I wish all the boys to return to their places, Mr. Moffat. I have something to say," Mr. Tulloch said, in a loud voice.

When the boys were all seated, he went on:

"Admiral Langton has been telling me that four of my boys were out and about, soon after three o'clock this morning. The four boys in question will stand up.

"I do not say that this is the first time that such a serious infraction of the rules of the school has taken place. It has happened before. It may, for aught I know, have happened many times, without my knowledge; but upon the occasions when it has come to my knowledge, the offenders have been most severely punished. They must be punished, now.

"Admiral Langton has been telling me that the boys in question have behaved with very great courage, and have been the means of saving him from the loss of a large sum of money and plate, and of capturing four burglars."

A buzz of surprise passed round the school.

"That this conduct does them great credit I am fully prepared to admit. Had they been aware that this burglary was about to be committed, and had they broken out of the house in the middle of the night for the purpose of preventing it, I allow that it might have been pleaded as an excuse for their offence; but this was not so. It was an accident, that occurred to them when they were engaged in breaking the rules, and cannot be pleaded as a set-off against punishment.

"Admiral Langton has pleaded with me, very strongly, for a pardon for them; but I regret that I am unable to comply with his request. The admiral, as a sailor, is well aware that discipline must be maintained; and I am quite sure that, when he was in command of a ship, he would not have permitted his judgment to be biased, by anyone. I have put it to him in that way, and he acknowledges that to be so. The two matters stand distinct. The boys must be punished for this gross breach of the rules. They may be thanked, and applauded, for the courage they have shown, and the valuable service they have rendered to Admiral Langton.

"I have, however, so far yielded to his entreaties that, while I must administer a severe caning for the gross breach of the rules, I shall abstain from taking any further steps in the matter; and from writing to the boys' parents and guardians, requesting them to remove their sons from the school, at once, as I certainly otherwise would have done. At the same time, I am willing to hear anything that these boys may have to urge, in explanation or defence of their conduct. I have already been informed, by Admiral Langton, that their object, in so breaking out, was to hunt rabbits up on the Common."

"I wish to say, sir," Bob said, in a steady voice, "that it was entirely my doing. I made the arrangements, and persuaded the others to go; and I think it is only right that they should not be punished as severely as I am."

"We were all in it together, sir," Jim Sankey broke in. "I was just as keen on it as Bob was."

"So was I," Fullarton and Wharton said, together.

"Well, lads," Admiral Langton said, taking a step forward, and addressing the boys, in general, "as your master says, discipline is discipline; this is his ship, and he is on his own quarterdeck—but I wish to tell you all that, in my opinion, you have every reason to be proud of your schoolfellows. They behaved with the greatest pluck and gallantry and, were I again in command of a ship, I should be glad to have them serving me. I am only sorry that I cannot persuade Mr. Tulloch to see the matter in the same light as I do.

"Goodbye, lads!" and he walked across, and shook hands with the four boys. "I shall see you again, soon," and the admiral turned abruptly, and walked out of the schoolroom.

Mr. Tulloch at once proceeded to carry his sentence into effect, and the four boys received as severe a caning as ever they had had in their lives; and even Bob, case hardened as he was, had as much as he could do to prevent himself from uttering a sound, while it was being inflicted. Lessons were then continued, as usual, until eight o'clock, when the boys went in to breakfast. After that was over, they went into the playground, until nine; and the four culprits gave the rest a full account of the events of the night.

"I don't mind the thrashing," Bob said, "although Tulloch did lay it on hot. It was well worth it, if it had only been to see that sneak Purfleet's face, when the admiral told the story. I was watching him, when Tulloch came in; and saw how delighted he was, at the tale he was going to tell; and how satisfied he was that he should get no end of credit, for sitting three hours in his dressing gown, in order to catch us when we came in. It was an awful sell for him, when he saw that the admiral had come out with the whole story, and there was nothing, whatever, for him to tell."

When they went into school again, Mr. Tulloch said:

"Boys, I hear that four of your number have behaved with great gallantry. They have prevented a serious robbery, and arrested the men engaged in it. I shall therefore give you a holiday, for the remainder of the day. The four boys in question will proceed, at once, to Admiral Langton's, as they will be required to accompany him to Kingston, where the prisoners will be brought up before the magistrates."

There was a general cheer from the boys, and then Bob and his companions hurried upstairs to put on their best clothes, and ran off to the admiral's.

"Well, boys, is it all over?" he asked, as they entered.

"All over, sir," they replied together.

"Well, boys, I think it was a shame; but I suppose discipline must be maintained in school, as well as on board a ship; but it vexes me, amazingly, to think that I have been the means of bringing you into it."

"It is just the other way, sir," Bob said, "and it is very lucky for us that we came in here, sir, instead of going up to the Common, as we intended. One of the ushers found out that we had gone, and sat up until we came back and, if it had not been for you, we should not only have got a thrashing, but should all have been expelled; so it is the luckiest thing possible that we came in here."

"Well, I am very glad to hear that, boys. It has taken a load off my mind, for I have been thinking that, if you had not come in to help me, you would have got back without being noticed.

"Emma, these are the four lads who did us such good service, last night. They caught sight of you, before, but you were hardly in a state to receive them formally."

The young lady laughed, as she came forward and shook hands with them.

"You need not have mentioned that, papa.

"Well, I am very much obliged to you all; for I have no doubt they meant to have my watch and jewels, as well as papa's money."

"Now, it is time for us to be off," the admiral said. "My carriage is at the door, and a fly. You two, who have been knocked about, had better come with my daughter and myself. The others can either ride inside the fly, or one can go on the box of each vehicle, as you like."

Wharton and Fullarton both said that they should prefer going outside; and in a few minutes they were on their way, the three menservants riding inside the fly. The prisoners had been sent off, two hours before, in a cart; under the charge of the two local constables.

The case lasted but an hour, the four men being all committed for trial. The party then returned to Putney, the admiral insisting upon the boys stopping to lunch with him. After the meal was over, he inquired what they were going to do, on leaving school, and what profession they intended to adopt.

Bob was the first questioned.

"I am going to be a wine merchant, sir," he said. "I have got no choice about it. I lost my father and mother, years ago; and my guardian, who is an uncle of mine, is in the wine trade, and he says I have got to go in, too. I think it is horrid, but there is no good talking to him. He is an awfully crusty old chap. I should like to be a soldier, or a sailor; but of course it is of no use thinking of it. My guardian has been very kind to me, even though he is so crusty, and it wouldn't be right not to do as he tells me; and I don't suppose the wine business is so very bad, when one is accustomed to it."

"Has your uncle any sons, lad?"

"No, sir, he is an old bachelor; and he says that, some day, I am to have his business."

"Then you can't do better than stick to it, lad," the admiral said. "A boy who has before him the prospect of a solid, substantial living, on shore, is simply a fool if he goes to sea. It is a rough life, and a hard one; and if you don't get shot, or drowned, you may get laid on the shelf with the loss of a limb, and a pension that won't find you in grog and tobacco.

"It is a pity, for you would have made a good officer, but you will be vastly better off, in all respects, at home; and I can tell you there is not one sailor out of five who would not jump at a berth on shore, if he could get the chance."

Sankey's father was a country clergyman and, at present, Jim had no particular prospect.

"Would you like to go to sea, boy?"

"Yes, sir, I should like it of all things."

"Very well; give me your father's name and address, and I will write to him about it."

Fullarton's father was a landed proprietor in Somersetshire, and he was the eldest son. Wharton was to be a lawyer, and was to begin in his father's office, in a year or two. Admiral Langton took notes of the addresses of the boys' relatives.

When he had done that, he said to them:

"Now, lads, I know you would rather be off. I remember, when I was a midshipman, I was always glad enough to escape, when I had to dine with the captain."

A week later, a young man came down from a city watchmaker's, with four handsome gold watches and chains for the boys; with an inscription stating that they had been presented to them by Admiral Langton, in remembrance of their gallant conduct on the night of August 6th, 1778. They were immensely delighted with the gift; for watches were, in those days, far more expensive luxuries than at present, and their use was comparatively rare. With the watches were four short notes from the admiral, inviting them to come up on the following Saturday afternoon.

They had, by this time, received letters from their families, who had each received a communication from the admiral, expressing his warm commendation of their conduct, and his thanks for the services that the boys had rendered.

Jim Sankey's father wrote saying that the admiral had offered to procure him a berth as a midshipman, at once; and that he had written, thankfully accepting the offer, as he knew that it was what Jim had been most earnestly wishing—though, as he had no interest, whatever, among naval men, he had hitherto seen no chance of his being able to obtain such an appointment. This communication put Jim into a state of the wildest delight, and rendered him an object of envy to his schoolfellows.

Fullarton's father wrote his son a hearty letter, congratulating him on what he had done, and saying that he felt proud of the letter he had received from the admiral.

Wharton's father wrote to him sharply, saying that thief-taking was a business that had better be left to constables, and that he did not approve of freaks of that kind.

Mr. Bale wrote an irascible letter to Bob.

"My dear nephew," he began, "I am astonished, and most seriously displeased, at contents of communication I have received from a person signing himself J. Langton, admiral. I gather from it that, instead of pursuing your studies, you are wandering about at night, engaged in pursuits akin to poaching. I say akin, because I am not aware whether the wild animals upon the common are the property of the lord of the manor, or whether they are at the mercy of vagabonds. It appears to me that there can be no proper supervision exercised by your masters.

"I spoke to you when you were here, six weeks ago, as to your school reports which, although fairly satisfactory as to your abilities, said there was a great want of steadiness in your general conduct. I am convinced that you are doing no good for yourself, and that the sooner you settle down to a desk, in my office, the better. I have therefore written this morning, informing Mr. Tulloch that I shall remove you, at Michaelmas.

"Your sister has been here, with her husband, today. I am sorry to say that they do not view your wild and lawless conduct in the same light that I do, and that they are unable to see there is anything positively disreputable in your being mixed up in midnight adventures with burglars. I am glad to gather, from Admiral Langton's letter, that Mr. Tulloch has seen your conduct in the proper light, and has inflicted a well-merited punishment upon you.

"All this is a very bad preparation for your future career as a respectable trader, and I am most annoyed to hear that you will be called on to appear as a witness against the men who have been captured. I have written to Admiral Langton, acknowledging his letter, and expressing my surprise that a gentleman in his position should give any countenance, whatever, to a lad who has been engaged in breaking the rules of his school; and in wandering at night, like a vagabond, through the country."

Bob looked rather serious as he read through the letter for the first time but, after going through it again, he burst into a shout of laughter.

"What is it, Bob?" Tom Fullarton asked.

"Read this letter, Tom. I should like to have seen the admiral's face, as he read my uncle's letter. But it is too bad. You see, I have regularly done for myself. I was to have stopped here till a year come Christmas, and now I have to leave at Michaelmas. I call it a beastly shame."

It was some consolation to Bob to receive, next morning, a letter from his sister, saying she was delighted to hear how he had distinguished himself in the capture of the burglars.

"Of course, it was very wrong of you to get out at night; but Gerald says that boys are always up to tricks of that sort, and so I suppose that it wasn't so bad as it seems to me. Uncle John pretends to be in a terrible rage about it, but I don't think he is really as angry as he makes himself out to be. He blew me up, and said that I had always encouraged you—which of course I haven't—and when Gerald tried to say a good word for you, he turned upon him, and said something about fellow-feeling making men wondrous kind. Gerald only laughed, and said he was glad my uncle had such a good opinion of him, and that he should have liked to have been there, to lend a hand in the fight; and then uncle said something disagreeable, and we came away.

"But I feel almost sure that Uncle John is not really so angry as he seems; and I believe that, if Gerald and I had taken the other side, and had said that your conduct had been very wicked, he would have defended you. It was stupid of us not to think of it, for you know uncle always likes to disagree with other people—there is nothing he hates more than their agreeing with him. His bark is much worse than his bite, and you must not forget how good and kind he has been to us all.

"You know how angry he was with my marriage, and he said I had better have drowned myself, than have married a soldier; and I had better have hung myself, than have married an Irishman—specially when he had intended, all along, that I should marry the son of an old friend of his, a most excellent and well-conducted young man, with admirable prospects. But he came round in a month or two, and the first notice of it was a letter from his lawyer, saying that, in accordance with the instruction of his client, Mr. John Bale, he had drawn up and now enclosed a post-nuptial settlement, settling on me the sum of 5000 pounds consols; and that his client wished him to say that, had I married the person he had intended for me, that sum would have been doubled.

"The idea, when I never even saw the man! And when I wrote, thanking him, he made no allusion to what he had said before; but wrote that he should be glad, at all times, to see my husband and myself, whenever we came to town; but that, as I knew, his hours were regular, and the door always locked at ten o'clock—just as if Gerald was in the habit of coming in, drunk, in the middle of the night! Fortunately nothing puts Gerald out, and he screamed over it; and we went and stopped a week with uncle, a month afterwards, and he and Gerald got on capitally together, considering. Gerald said it was like a bear and a monkey in one cage, but it was really very funny.

"So I have no doubt he will come round, with you. Do try and not vex him more than you can help, Bob. You know how much we all owe him."

This was true. Bob's father had died when he was only three years old—he being a lawyer, with a good business, at Plymouth—but he had made no provision for his early death, and had left his wife and two children almost penniless. Mr. Bale had at once taken charge of them, and had made his sister an allowance that enabled her to live very comfortably. She had remained in Plymouth, as she had many friends there.

Her daughter Carrie—who was six years older than Bob—had, four years before, married Gerald O'Halloran, who was then a lieutenant in the 58th Regiment, which was in garrison there. He had a small income, derived from an estate in Ireland, besides his pay; but the young couple would have been obliged to live very economically, had it not been for the addition of the money settled on her by her uncle.

Her mother had died, a few months after the marriage; and Mr. Bale had at once placed Bob at the school, at Putney; and had announced his intention of taking him, in due time, into his business. The boy always spent one half of his holidays with his uncle, the other with his sister. The former had been a trial, both to him and to Mr. Bale. They saw but little of each other; for Mr. Bale, who, like most business men of the time, lived over his offices, went downstairs directly he had finished his breakfast, and did not come up again until his work was over when, at five o'clock, he dined. The meal over, he sometimes went out to the houses of friends, or to the halls of one or other of the city companies to which he belonged.

While Bob was with him, he told off one of the foremen in his business to go about with the boy. The days, therefore, passed pleasantly, as they generally went on excursions by water up or down the river or, sometimes, when it was not otherwise required, in a light cart used in the business, to Epping or Hainault Forest. Bob was expected to be back to dinner and, thanks to the foreman—who knew that his employer would not tolerate the smallest unpunctuality—he always succeeded in getting back in time to wash and change his clothes for dinner.

The meal was a very solemn one, Mr. Bale asking occasional questions, to which Bob returned brief answers. Once or twice the boy ventured upon some lively remark, but the surprise and displeasure expressed in his uncle's face, at this breach of the respectful silence then generally enforced upon the young, in the presence of their elders, deterred him from often trying the experiment.

Mr. Bale was as much bored as was Bob by these meals, and the evenings that sometimes followed them. He would have been glad to have chatted more freely with his nephew, but he was as ill at ease with him, as he would have been with a young monkey. There was nothing in common between them, and the few questions he asked were the result of severe cogitation. He used to glance at the boy from under his eyebrows, wonder what he was smiling to himself about, and wish that he understood him better. It did not occur to him that if he had drawn him out, and encouraged him to chatter as he liked, he should get underneath the surface, and might learn something of the nature hidden there. It was in sheer desperation, at finding nothing to say, that he would often seize his hat and go out, when he had quite made up his mind to stay indoors for the evening.

Bob put up, as well as he could, with his meals and the dull evenings, for the sake of the pleasant time he had during the day; but he eagerly counted the hours until the time when he was to take his place on the coach for Canterbury, where the 58th were now quartered. He looked forward with absolute dread to the time when he would have to enter his uncle's office.

"What is the use of being rich, Carrie," he would say to his sister, "if one lives as uncle does? I would rather work in the fields."

"Yes, Bob; but you see, when you get to be rich you needn't live in the same way, at all. You could live as some traders do, in the country at Hampstead, Dulwich, or Chelsea, and ride in to business; and you can, of course, marry and enjoy life. One needn't live like a hermit, all alone, because one is a trader in the city."

The one consolation Bob had was that his uncle had once said that he considered it was a great advantage, to any young man going into the wine trade, to go over to Spain or Portugal for two or three years; to learn the whole routine of business there, to study the different growths and know their values, and to form a connection among the growers and shippers. Bob had replied gravely that he thought this would certainly be a great advantage, and that he hoped his uncle would send him over there.

"I shall see, when the time comes, Robert. It will, of course, depend much upon the relations between this country and Spain and Portugal; and also upon yourself. I could not, of course, let you go out there until I was quite assured of your steadiness of conduct. So far, although I have nothing to complain of, myself, your schoolmaster's reports are by no means hopeful, on that head. Still, we must hope that you will improve."

It was terrible to Bob to learn that he was to go, fifteen months sooner than he had expected, to his uncle's; but he was somewhat relieved when, upon his arrival at the house at Philpot Lane, his uncle, after a very grave lecture on the enormity of his conduct at school, said:

"I have been thinking, Robert, that it will be more pleasant, both for you and for me, that you should not, at present, take up your abode here. I am not accustomed to young people. It would worry me having you here and, after your companionship with boys of your own age, you might find it somewhat dull.

"I have therefore arranged with Mr. Medlin, my principal clerk, for you to board with him. He has, I believe, some boys and girls of about your own age. You will, I hope, be able to make yourself comfortable there."

"Thank you, uncle," Bob said, suppressing his impulse to give a shout of satisfaction, and looking as grave as possible. "I think that would be a very nice arrangement."

"Mr. Medlin is a very trustworthy person," Mr. Bale went on. "He has been with me for upwards of twenty years, and I have the greatest confidence in him.

"You had better sit down here, and take a book. At five o'clock come down into the counting house. Mr. Medlin will leave at that hour."

Bob had hitherto avoided the counting house. He had occasionally, on previous visits, slipped down to his friend the foreman; and had wandered through the great cellars, and watched the men at work bottling, and gazed in surprise at the long tiers of casks stacked up to the roof of the cellar, and the countless bottles stowed away in the bins. Once or twice he had gone down into the counting house, with his uncle; and waited there a few minutes, until the foreman was disengaged. He had noticed Mr. Medlin at work at his high desk, in one corner—keeping, as it seemed to him, his eye upon two young clerks, who sat on high stools at opposite sides of the desk, on the other side of the office.

Mr. Medlin had a little rail round the top of his desk, and curtains on rods that could be drawn round it. He was a man of six or seven and thirty; with a long face, smooth shaven. He always seemed absorbed in his work and, when spoken to by Mr. Bale, answered in the fewest possible words, in an even, mechanical voice. It had seemed to Bob that he had been entirely oblivious to his presence; and it did not appear to him now, as he sat with a book before him, waiting for the clock on the mantel to strike five, that existence at Mr. Medlin's promised to be a lively one. Still, as there were boys and girls, it must be more amusing than it would be at his uncle's and, at any rate, the clerk would not be so formidable a personage to deal with as Mr. Bale.

At one minute to five he went down, so as to open the counting house door as the clock struck. As he went in through the outer door, his uncle came out from the inner office.

"Ah! There you are, Robert.

"Mr. Medlin, this is my nephew who, as we have arranged, will take up his residence with you. I am afraid you will find him somewhat headstrong and troublesome. I have already informed you why it has been necessary to remove him from school. However, I trust that there will be no repetition of such follies; and that he will see the necessity of abandoning schoolboy pranks, and settling down to business."

"Yes, sir," Mr. Medlin replied, seeing that his employer expected an answer.

Bob had noticed that, although the clerk's eyes were directed upon him, there appeared to be no expression of interest or curiosity in them; but that they might as well have been fixed upon a blank wall.

"Your boxes have already been sent round in the cart to Mr. Medlin's, Robert. I don't know that there is anything else to say. Mr. Medlin will, of course, put you in the way of your duties here; but if you have anything to say to me—any questions to ask, or any remarks, connected with the business, or otherwise, you wish to make—I shall always be ready to listen to you, if you will come into the counting house at half past four."

So saying, Mr. Bale retired into his private room again. Mr. Medlin placed his papers inside his desk, locked it, took off his coat and hung it on a peg, put on another coat and his hat, and then turned to Bob.

"Ready?"

"Quite ready."

Mr. Medlin led the way out of the counting house, and Bob followed. Mr. Medlin walked fast, and Bob had to step out to keep up with him. The clerk appeared scarcely conscious of his presence, until they were beyond the more crowded thoroughfare, then he said:

"Two miles, out Hackney way. Not too far!"

"Not at all," Bob replied. "The farther the better."

"No burglars there. Wouldn't pay."

And Bob thought that the shadow of a smile passed across his face.

"We can do without them," Bob said.

"Hate coming here, I suppose?"

"That I do," Bob said, cordially.

Mr. Medlin nodded.

"Not so bad as it looks," he said, and then walked on again, in silence.

Presently there was a break in the houses. They were getting beyond the confines of business London.

"Do you see this little garden?" Mr. Medlin asked, suddenly, in a tone so unlike that in which he had before spoken that Bob quite started.

The lad looked at the little patch of ground, with some stunted shrubs, but could see nothing remarkable in it.

"Yes, I see it, sir," he said.

"That, Bob," Mr. Medlin went on, "—for I suppose you are called Bob—marks the end of all things."

Bob opened his eyes in astonishment, and again examined the little garden.

"It marks, Bob, the delimitation between London and country, between slavery and freedom. Here, every morning, I leave myself behind; here, every evening, I recover myself—or, at least, a considerable portion of myself—at a further mark, half a mile on, I am completely restored.

"I suppose you used to find just the same thing, at the door of the schoolroom?"

"A good deal, sir," Bob said, in a much brighter tone than he had used, since he said goodbye to the fellows at Tulloch's.

"I am glad you feel like that. I expect you will get like that, as to the city, in time; but mind, lad, you must always find yourself again. You stick to that. You make a mark somewhere, leave yourself behind in the morning, and pick yourself up again when you come back. It is a bad thing for those who forget to do that. They might as well hang themselves—better.

"In there," and he jerked his thumb back over his shoulder, "we are all machines, you know. It isn't us, not a bit of it. There is just the flesh, the muscle, the bones, and a frozen bit of our brains. The rest of us is left behind. If, as we come out, we forget to pick it up, we lose ourselves altogether, before long; and then there we are, machines to the end of our lives. You remember that, Bob. Keep it always in mind."

"It is a pity that my uncle didn't get the same advice, forty years ago, Mr. Medlin."

"It is a pity my employer did not marry. It is a pity my employer lives in that dull house, in that dull lane, all by himself," Mr. Medlin said, angrily.

"But he has not got rid of himself, altogether. He is a good deal frozen up; but he thaws out, sometimes. What a man he would be, if he would but live out somewhere, and pick himself up regularly, as I do, every day!

"This is my second mark, Bob, this tree growing out in the road. Now, you see, we are pretty well in the country.

"Can you run?"

"Yes, I can run pretty well, Mr. Medlin."

"Very well, Bob. You see that tree growing out beyond that garden wall, about four hundred yards on. It is four hundred and twenty, for I have measured it. Now then, you walk on fifty yards, and then run for your life. See if I don't catch you, before you are there."

Bob, wondering as he went along at the astounding change that had come over his companion, took fifty long steps; then he heard a shout of "Now!" and went off at the top of his speed. He was still a hundred yards from the mark, when he heard steps coming rapidly up behind him; and then the clerk dashed past him, and came in fully twenty yards ahead.

"You don't run badly," he said, as Bob stopped, panting. "My Jack generally comes to meet me, and I always give him seventy yards, and only beat him by about as much as I do you. He couldn't come, this afternoon. He is busy helping his mother to get things straight. I expect we shall meet him, presently.

"Well, what are you laughing at?"

"I was just thinking how astonished my uncle would be, if he were to see us."

Mr. Medlin gave a hearty laugh.

"Not so much as you would think, Bob. Five years ago, my employer suddenly asked me, just as we were shutting up one afternoon, if I was fond of fishing. I said that I used to be.

"He said, 'I am going down, for a fortnight, into Hampshire. I have no one to go with—suppose you come with me.'

"I said, 'I will.'

"He said, 'Coach tomorrow morning, eight o'clock, Black Horse Yard.'

"I was there. As we went over London Bridge I found myself, as usual; and he found himself. I explained to him that I could not help it. He said he didn't want me to help it. We had a glorious fortnight together, and we have been out every year, since. He never alludes to it, between times. No more do I. He is stiffer than usual for a bit. So am I. But we both know each other.

"You do not suppose that he would have sent you to me, if he hadn't known that I have got another side to me?"

"Well, I should not have thought," Bob said, "from the way he talked, when he introduced me to you, that he ever had such an idea in his mind."

"He was obliged to talk so," Mr. Medlin said, laughing. "We were just machines at the time, both of us. But he talked in quite a different way when we were down fishing together, three weeks ago. He said then you were rather a pickle, and that he didn't think you would do yourself any good where you were, so that he was going to bring you up to business.

"'I don't want him to turn out a dull blockhead,' he said, 'and so I propose that you should take charge of him, and teach him to keep himself young. I wish I had done it, myself.'

"And so it was settled.

"There is no better employer in the city than your uncle. There is not a man or boy about the place who isn't well paid, and contented. I used to think myself a lucky man, before we went out fishing together for the first time but, six months after that, he gave me a rise that pretty well took my breath away.

"Ah! Here come the young uns."

A couple of minutes later, four young people ran up. There was a boy about Bob's age, a girl a year younger, a boy, and another girl, in regular steps. They greeted their father with a joyous shout of welcome.

"So you have got everything done," he said. "I thought you would meet me somewhere here.

"This is Bob Repton, my employer's nephew, and future member of the firm. Treat him with all respect, and handle him gently. He is a desperate fellow, though he doesn't look it. This is the young gentleman I told you of, who made a night expedition and captured four burglars."

After this introduction, Bob was heartily shaken by the hand, all round; and the party proceeded on their way, the two girls holding their father's hand, the boys walking behind, with Bob, who was so surprised at the unexpected turn affairs had taken that, for a time, he almost lost his usual readiness of speech.

CHAPTER 3: AN UNEXPECTED JOURNEY.

Hawthorne Cottage, Mr. Medlin's abode, was a pretty little house, standing detached in a good-sized garden, surrounded by a high wall.

"Here we are, mother," the clerk said, as he led the way into a cozy room, where tea was laid upon the table, while a bright fire blazed in the grate.

A very pleasant-faced lady, who did not look to Bob more than thirty—although she must have been four or five years older—greeted her husband affectionately.

"My dear," he said, "in the exuberance of your feelings, you forget that I have brought you home a visitor. This is Mr. Robert Repton. While he is resident in the house, he may be greeted as Bob. We had a race, and he runs faster than Jack; fifty yards, in four hundred and twenty, is the utmost I can give him."

"What nonsense you do talk, Will!" his wife said, laughing. "I am sure Master Repton must think you out of your mind."

"It is a very jolly way of being out of his mind, Mrs. Medlin. You don't know how pleased I am."

"He thought I was an ogre, my dear, and that you were an ogress.

"Now let the banquet be served; for I am hungry, and I expect Bob is, too. As for the children, they are always hungry—at least, it seems so."

It was a merry meal, and Bob thought he had never enjoyed one as much, except at his sister's. After tea they had music; and he found that Mr. Medlin performed admirably on the violin, his wife played the spinet, Jack the clarionet, and Sophy—the eldest girl—the piccolo.

"She is going to learn the harp, presently," Mr. Medlin explained; "but for the present, when we have no visitors—and I don't count you one, after this evening—she plays the piccolo. She is a little shy about it, but shyness is the failing of my family."

"It is very jolly," Bob said. "I wish I could play an instrument."

"We will see about it, in time, Bob. We want a French horn; but I don't see, at present, where you are to practise."

"Has uncle ever been here?" Bob asked, late in the evening.

"Yes, he came here the evening we got back from our fishing expedition. He wanted to see the place, before he finally settled about you coming here. My wife was a little afraid of him; but there was no occasion, and everything went off capitally—except that Sophy would not produce her piccolo. I walked back with him, till he came upon a hackney coach.

"He said as he got in, 'I have spent a most pleasant evening, Medlin. You are a very lucky fellow.'

"I went back to work the next morning, and we both dropt into the old groove; and nothing more was said until yesterday, when he informed me that you would come, today."

"Oh, dear!" Bob said, as he started with the clerk, at eight o'clock on the following morning. "Now I am going to begin at that wretched counting house."

"No, you are not, Bob. You are not coming in there, at present. When your uncle and I were talking—when we were fishing, you know—he said that he saw no use in your going in there, at present; and thought it would be quite time for you to learn how the books are kept, in another three or four years; and that, till then, you could go into the cellar. You will learn bottling, and packing, and blending, and something about the quality and value of wines. You will find it much more pleasant than being shut up in a counting house, making out bills and keeping ledgers."

"A great deal," Bob said, joyfully. "I sha'n't mind that at all."

Bob observed a noticeable change in his companion's demeanour, when he arrived at the tree and, on passing the last garden, his face assumed a stolid expression; his brisk, springy walk settled down into a business pace; his words became few; and he was again a steady, and mechanical, clerk.

A fortnight later, Bob was summoned to the counting house.

"Mr. Bale wishes to see you," Mr. Medlin said.

Bob entered, wondering what he was wanted for.

"I received a subpoena, a week ago, Robert, for you to attend as a witness at Kingston tomorrow. These interruptions to business are very annoying. I did not mention it to you before for, if I had done so, you would be thinking of nothing else.

"This morning I have received a letter from Admiral Langton, requesting me to allow you to go down by the stage, this afternoon, and to sleep at his house. He will take you over, in the morning; and you will sleep there again, tomorrow night, and come back by the early stage.

"I trust that you will endeavour to curb your exuberance of spirits. This is a very grave matter, and anything like levity would be altogether out of place.

"The letter says that the stage leaves the Bell Tavern at four o'clock."

Bob replied, gravely, that he would be there in time; and went off to his work again, until twelve o'clock.

When he arrived at the admiral's, at a quarter to six, a lad in midshipman's uniform came rushing out into the hall.

"Hulloa, Bob!"

"Why, Jim!—but no, I suppose I ought to say Mr. James Sankey, to an officer of your importance. How comes it, sir, that you are so soon attired in His Majesty's uniform?"

"I will punch your head, Bob, if you go on with that nonsense.

"But I say, isn't it jolly? The very afternoon after you left came down a big letter, with a tremendous seal; and therein I was informed that I was appointed to His Majesty's ship Brilliant, and was ordered to join immediately. Of course, I did not know what to do, so I came up here; and who do you think I found here? Captain Langton, the admiral's son, who is in command of the Brilliant.

"Of course, it was he who had got me the appointment. He was very kind, and told me that I could not join until after this trial; so that I could go down home, and stop there, till today; and the admiral sent me straight off, to be measured for my uniform. When I started, next day, he gave me a letter to my father—an awfully nice letter it was, saying that he intended to present me with my first outfit. I got here about an hour ago, and have been putting on my uniform, to see how it fitted."

"You mean to see how you looked in it, Jim? It looks first rate. I wish I was in one too, and was going with you, instead of sticking in Philpot Lane."

"I am awfully sorry for you, Bob. It must be beastly."

"Well, it is not so bad as I expected, Jim, and uncle is turning out much better; and I don't live there, but with the head clerk, out at Hackney. He is an awfully jolly sort of fellow—you never saw such a rum chap. I will tell you all about it, afterwards.

"I suppose I ought to go in, and see the admiral."

"He is out, at present, Bob. He will be back at eight o'clock to supper, so you can come up and tell me all about it. Captain Langton is here, too."

Captain Langton spoke very kindly to Bob, when the two boys came down to supper; and told him that if, at any time, he changed his mind, and there was a vacancy for a midshipman on board his ship, he would give him the berth.

"I should be very glad to have you with me," he said, "after the service you rendered my father and sister."

On the following morning, Fullarton and Wharton came up from the school, and two carriages conveyed the witnesses over to Kingston. The prisoners, Bob heard, were notorious and desperate criminals, whom the authorities had long been anxious to lay hands on. The butler was one of the gang, and had obtained his post by means of a forged character. The trial only occupied two hours for, taken in the act as the men were, there was no defence whatever. All four were sentenced to be hung, and the judge warmly complimented the four boys upon their conduct in the matter.

The next morning, Bob returned to his work in the city.

For the next three months, his existence was a regular one. On arriving in the cellar, he took off his jacket and put on a large apron, that completely covered him; and from that time until five o'clock he worked with the other boys: bottling, packing, storing the bottles away in the bins, or taking them down as required. He learned, from the foreman, something of the localities from which the wine came, their value and prices; but had not begun to distinguish them by taste, or bouquet. Mr. Bale, the foreman said, had given strict orders that he was not to begin tasting, at present.

Three days before Christmas, one of the clerks brought him down word that Mr. Bale wished to see him in the office, at five o'clock.

During the three, months he had scarcely spoken to his uncle. The latter had nodded to him, whenever he came into the cellar; and had regularly said, "Well, Robert, how are you getting on?"

To which he had, as regularly, replied, "Very well, uncle."

He supposed that the present meeting was for the purpose of inviting him to dine at Philpot Lane, on Christmas Day; and although he knew that he should enjoy the festivity more, at Hackney, he was prepared to accept it very willingly.

"I have sent for you, Robert," Mr. Bale said, when he entered his office, "to say that your sister has written to ask me to go down to spend Christmas with her, at Portsmouth. As her husband's regiment is on the point of going abroad, I have decided on accepting her invitation and, for the same reason, I shall take you down with me. You will therefore have your box packed, tonight. I shall send down a cart to fetch it, tomorrow. You will sleep here tomorrow night, and we start the next morning."

"Thank you very much, uncle," Bob said, in delight; and then, seeing that nothing further was expected of him, he ran off to join Mr. Medlin, who was waiting for him outside.

"What do you think, Mr. Medlin? I am going down to spend Christmas at my sister's."

"Ah!" the clerk said, in a dull unsympathetic voice. "Well, mind how you walk, Mr. Robert. It does not look well, coming out from a place of business as if you were rushing out of school."

Bob knew well enough that it was no use, whatever, trying to get his companion to take any interest in matters unconnected with business, at present; so he dropped into his regular pace, and did not open his lips again, until they had passed the usual boundary.

Then Mr. Medlin said, briskly, "So you are going down to your sister's, Bob!"

"Yes, that will be first rate, won't it? Of course, I went down in the summer to Canterbury, and hardly expected to go again this year. As I have only been three months here, I did not even think of going.

"It will be the last holiday I shall have, for some time. You know Carrie said, when she wrote to me a month ago, that the regiment expected to be ordered abroad soon; and uncle said it is on the point of going, now.

"He is coming down with me."

His voice fell a little, at this part of the announcement.

"He is, eh? You think you will have to be on your best behaviour, Bob?"

"Before you told me about him, Mr. Medlin, I should have thought it would quite spoil the holiday. But I do not feel it so bad, now."

"He will be all right, Bob. You have never seen him outside the city, yet. Still, I shouldn't be up to any tricks with him, you know, if I were you—shouldn't put cobbler's wax on his pigtail, or anything of that sort."

"As if I should think of such a thing, Mr. Medlin!"

"Well, I don't know, Bob. You have made Jack pretty nearly as wild as you are, yourself. You are quite a scandal to the neighbourhood, you two. You nearly frightened those two ladies next door into fits, last week, by carrying in that snowman, and sticking it up in their garden, when you knew they were out. I thought they were both going to have fits, when they rushed in to tell me there was a ghost in their garden."

"I believe you suggested it yourself, Mr. Medlin," Bob said, indignantly. "Besides, it served them right, for coming in to complain that we had thrown stones and broken their window, when we had done nothing of the sort."

"It was rather lucky for you that they did so, Bob; for you see, we were all so indignant, then, that they didn't venture to accuse you of the snowman business—though I have no doubt they were convinced, in their own minds, that it was you. But that is only one out of twenty pranks that you and Jack have been up to."

"Jack and I and someone else, Mr Medlin. We carry them out, but I think someone else always suggests them."

"Not suggest, Bob—far from it. If I happen to say that it would be a most reprehensible thing if anyone were to do something, somehow or other that is the very thing that Jack and you do. It was only last week I said that it would be a very objectionable trick if anyone was to tie paper bands round the neck of the clergyman's black cat—who is always stealing our chickens—and to my surprise, the next morning, when we started for business, there was quite a crowd outside his house, watching the cat calmly sitting over the porch, with white bands round its neck. Now, that is an example of what I mean."

"Quite so, Mr. Medlin, that is just what I meant, too; and it was much better than throwing stones at him. It is a savage beast, though it does look so demure; and scratched Jack's hand and mine, horribly, when we were tying on the bands."

At the tree the others met them, and they laughed and chatted all the way back; the young ones expressing much regret, however, that Bob was to be away at Christmas.

At the appointed time, Mr. Bale and Bob took their places on the coach. The latter felt a little oppressed; for his uncle had, the evening before, been putting him through a sort of examination as to the value of wines; and had been exceedingly severe when Bob had not acquitted himself to his satisfaction, but had mixed up Malaga with Madeira, and had stated that a French wine was grown near Cadiz.

"I expect I shall know them better when I get to taste them," Bob had urged, in excuse. "When you don't know anything about the wines, it is very difficult to take an interest in them. It is like learning that a town in India is on the Ganges. You don't care anything about the town, and you don't care anything about the Ganges; and you are sure to mix it up, next time, with some other town on some other river."

"If those are your ideas, Robert, I think you had better go to bed," Mr. Bale had said, sternly; and Bob had gone to bed, and had thought what a nuisance it was that his uncle was going down to Portsmouth, just when he wanted to be jolly with Carrie and her husband for the last time.

Little had been said at breakfast, and it was not until the coach was rattling along the high road, and the last house had been left behind him, that Bob's spirits began to rise. There had been a thaw, a few days before, and the snow had disappeared; but it was now freezing sharply again.

"The air is brisk. Do you feel it cold, Robert?" Mr. Bale said, breaking silence for the first time.

"I feel cold about the toes, and about the ears and nose, uncle," Bob said, "but I am not very likely to feel cold, anywhere else."

His uncle looked down at the boy, who was wedged in between him and a stout woman.

"Well, no," he agreed; "you are pretty closely packed. You had better pull that muffler over your ears more. It was rather different weather when you went down to Canterbury in the summer."

"That it was," Bob replied, heartily. "It was hot and dusty, just; and there were a man and woman, sitting opposite, who kept on drinking out of a bottle, every five minutes. She had a baby with her, too, who screamed almost all the way. I consider I saved that baby's life."

"How was that, Robert?"

"Well you see, uncle, they had finished their bottle by the time we got to Sevenoaks; and we all got down for dinner there and, before we sat down, the man went to the bar and got it filled up again. A pint of gin, filled up with water—I heard him order it. He put it in the pocket of his coat, and hung the coat up on a peg when he sat down to dinner.

"I was not long over my dinner, and finished before they did; and I took the bottle out, and ran out to the yard and emptied it, and filled it up with water, and put it back in the pocket again, without his noticing it.

"You should have seen what a rage he was in, when he took his first sip from the bottle, after we had started. He thought the man at the inn had played him a trick, and he stood up and shouted to the coachman to turn back again; but of course he wasn't going to do that, and every one laughed—except the woman. I think she had had more than was good for her, already, and she cried for about an hour.

"The next two places where we changed horses, we did it so quick that the man hadn't time to get down. The third place he did and, though the guard said we shouldn't stop a minute, he went into the public house. The guard shouted, but he didn't come out, and off we went without him. Then he came out running, and waving his arms, but the coachman wouldn't stop. The woman got down, with the child, at the next place we changed horses; and I suppose they went on next day and, if they started sober, they did perhaps get to Dover all right."

"That was a very nasty trick," the woman, who was sitting next to Bob, said sharply.

Bob had noticed that she had already opened a basket on her lap, and had partaken of liquid refreshment.

"But you see, I saved the baby, ma'am," Bob said, humbly. "The woman was sitting at the end and, if she had taken her share of the second bottle, the chances are she would have dropped the baby. It was a question of saving life, you see."

Bob felt a sudden convulsion in his uncle's figure.

"It is all very well to talk in that way," the woman said, angrily. "It was just a piece of impudence, and you ought to have been flogged for it. I have no patience with such impudent doings. A wasting of good liquor, too."

"I don't think, madam," Mr. Bale said, "it was as much wasted as it would have been, had they swallowed it; for at least it did no harm. I cannot see myself why, because people get outside a coach, they should consider it necessary to turn themselves into hogs."

"I will trouble you to keep your insinuations to yourself," the woman said, in great indignation. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, at your age, encouraging a boy in such ways. There is them as can stand the cold, and there's them as can't; and a little good liquor helps them, wonderful. I am sich, myself."

And she defiantly took out her bottle from her basket, and applied it to her lips.

"I was not speaking personally, my good woman," Mr. Bale said.

"I would have you to know," the woman snapped, "that I ain't your good woman. I wouldn't demean myself to the like. I will ask this company if it is right as a unprotected female should be insulted, on the outside of one of His Majesty's mails?"

The other passengers, who had been struggling with their laughter, endeavoured to pacify her with the assurance that no insult had been meant; and as Mr. Bale made no reply, she subsided into silence, grumbling occasionally to herself.

"I am a-going down," she broke out, presently, "to meet my husband, and I don't mind who knows it. He is a warrant officer, he is, on board the Latona, as came in last week with two prizes. There ain't nothing to be ashamed of, in that.

"And I will thank you, boy," she said, turning sharply upon Bob, "not to be a-scrouging me so. I pay for my place, I do."

"I think you ought to pay for two places," Bob said. "I am sure you have got twice as much room as I have. And if there is any scrouging, it isn't me."

"Would you have any objection, sir," the woman said majestically, to a man sitting on the other side of her, "to change places with me? I ain't a-going to bear no longer with the insults of this boy, and of the person as calls himself a man, a-sitting next to him."

The change was effected, to Bob's great satisfaction.

"You see, Robert, what you have brought down upon me," Mr. Bale said. "This comes of your telling stories about bottles, when there is a woman with one in her basket next to you."

"I really was not thinking of her when I spoke, uncle. But I am glad, now, for I really could hardly breathe, before.

"Why, uncle, I had no idea you smoked!" he added, as Mr. Bale took a cigar case from his pocket.

"I do not smoke, when I am in the city, Robert; but I see no harm in a cigar—in fact I like one—at other times. I observed a long pipe on the mantelpiece, at Mr. Medlin's; and indeed, I have seen that gentleman smoke, when we have been out together, but I have never observed him indulging in that habit, in the city."

"Oh, yes! He smokes at home," Bob said.

"I have great confidence in Mr. Medlin, Robert. You have been comfortable with him, I hope?"

"Could not be more comfortable, sir."

"An excellent man of business, Robert, and most trustworthy. A serious-minded man."

Bob was looking up, and saw a little twinkle in Mr. Bale's eye.

"You don't find it dull, I hope?"

"Not at all dull, sir. Mr. Medlin and his family are very musical."

"Musical, are they, Robert?" Mr. Bale said, in a tone of surprise. "As far as I have seen in the counting house, I should not have taken him to be musical."

"No, I don't think you would, uncle. Just the same way as one wouldn't think it likely that you would smoke a cigar."

"Well, no, Robert. You see, one must not always go by appearances."

"No, sir; that is just what Mr. Medlin says," Bob replied, smiling.

"Oh, he says that, does he? I suppose he has been telling you that we go out fishing together?"

"He did mention that, sir."

"You must not always believe what Medlin says, Robert."

"No, sir? I thought you told me he was perfectly trustworthy?"

"In some points, boy; but it is notorious that, from all times, the narratives of fishermen must be received with a large amount of caution. The man who can be trusted with untold gold cannot be relied upon to give, with even an approach to accuracy, the weights of the fish he has caught; and indeed, all his statements with reference to the pursuit must be taken with a large discount.

"You were surprised, when you heard that I went fishing, Robert?"

"Not more surprised than I was when you lit your cigar, sir."

"Well, you know what Horace said, Robert. I forget what it was in the Latin, but it meant:

"'He is a poor soul, who never rejoices.'

"The bow must be relaxed, Robert, or it loses its stiffness and spring. I, myself, always bear this in mind; and endeavour to forget that there is such a place as the city of London, or a place of business called Philpot Lane, directly I get away from it."

"Don't you think that you could forget, too, uncle, that the name I am known by in the city is Robert; and that my name, at all other times, is Bob?"

"I will try to do so, if you make a point of it," Mr. Bale said, gravely; "but at the same time, it appears to me that Bob is a name for a short-tailed sheepdog, rather than for a boy."

"I don't mind who else is called by it, uncle. Besides, sheepdogs are very useful animals."

"They differ from boys in one marked respect, Bob."

"What is that, uncle?"

"They always attend strictly to business, lad. They are most conscientious workers. Now, this is more than can be said for boys."

"But I don't suppose the sheepdogs do much, while they are puppies, uncle."

"Humph! I think you have me there, Bob. I suppose we must make allowances for them both.

"Well, we shall be at Guildford in half an hour, and will stop there for dinner. I shall not be sorry to get down to stamp my feet a bit. It is very cold here, in spite of these rugs."

It was seven o'clock in the evening when the coach drew up at the George Hotel, in Portsmouth. Captain O'Halloran was at the door to meet them.

"Well, Mr. Bale, you have had a coldish drive down, today.

"How are you, Bob?"

"At present, I am cold," Bob said. "The last two hours have been bitter."

"I have taken bedrooms here for you, Mr. Bale. There is no barrack accommodation, at present, for everyone is back from leave. Any other time, we could have put you up.

"Now, if you will point out your baggage, my man will see it taken up to your rooms; and you can come straight on to me. Carrie has got supper ready, and a big fire blazing. It is not three minutes' walk from here."

They were soon seated at table and, after the meal was over, they drew round the fire.

"So you have really become a man of business, Bob," his sister said. "I was very glad to hear, from your letter, that you liked it better than you expected."

"But it will be a long while, yet, before he is a man of business, niece. It is like having a monkey in a china shop. The other day I went down to the cellar, just in time to see him put down a bottle so carelessly that it tumbled over. Unfortunately there was a row of them he had just filled; and a dozen went down, like ninepins. The corks had not been put in, and half the contents were lost before they could be righted. And the wine was worth eighty shillings a dozen."

"And what can you expect of him, Mr. Bale?" Gerald O'Halloran said. "Is it a spalpeen like that you would trust with the handling of good wine? I would as soon set a cat to bottle milk."

"He is young for it, yet," Mr. Bale agreed. "But when a boy amuses himself by breaking out of school at three o'clock in the morning, and fighting burglars, what are you to do with him?"

"I should give him a medal, for his pluck, Mr. Bale; and let him do something where he would have a chance of showing his spirit."

"And make him as wild and harum-scarum as you are, yourself, O'Halloran; and then expect him to turn out a respectable merchant, afterwards? I am sure I don't wish to be troubled with him, till he has got rid of what you call his spirits; but what are you to do with such a pickle as this? There have been more bottles broken, since he came, than there ordinarily are in the course of a year; and I suspect him of corrupting my chief clerk, and am in mortal apprehension that he will be getting into some scrape, at Hackney, and make the place too hot for him.

"I never gave you credit for much brains, Carrie, but how it was you let your brother grow up like this is more than I can tell."

Although this all sounded serious, Bob did not feel at all alarmed. Carrie, however, thought that her uncle was greatly vexed, and tried to take up the cudgels in his defence.

"I am sure Bob does not mean any harm, uncle."

"I did not say that he did, niece; but if he does harm, it comes to the same thing.

"Well, we need not talk about that now. So I hear that you are going out to the Mediterranean?"

"Yes, uncle, to Gibraltar. It is a nice station, everyone says, and I am very pleased. There are so many places where there is fighting going on, now, that I think we are most fortunate in going there. I was so afraid the regiment might be sent either to America, or India."

"And I suppose you would rather have gone where there was fighting, O'Halloran?"

"I would," the officer said, promptly. "What is the use of your going into the army, if you don't fight?"

"I should say, what is the use of going into the army, at all?" Mr. Bale said, testily. "Still, I suppose someone must go."

"I suppose so, sir," Captain O'Halloran said, laughing. "If it were not for the army and navy, I fancy you trading gentlemen would very soon find the difference. Besides, there are some of us born to it. I should never have made a figure in the city, for instance."

"I fancy not," Mr. Bale said, dryly. "You will understand, O'Halloran, that I am not objecting in the slightest to your being in the army. My objection solely lies in the fact that you, being in the army, should have married my niece; and that, instead of coming to keep house for me, comfortably, she is going to wander about, with you, to the ends of the earth."

Carrie laughed.

"How do you know someone else would not have snapped me up, if he hadn't, uncle?"

"That is right, Carrie.

"You would have found her twice as difficult to manage as Bob, Mr. Bale. You would never have kept her in Philpot Lane, if I hadn't taken her. There are some people can be tamed down, and there are some who can't; and Carrie is one of the latter.

"I should pity you, from my heart, if you had her on your hands, Mr. Bale. If ever I get to be a colonel, it is she will command the regiment."

"Well, it is good that one of us should have sense, Gerald," his wife said, laughing. "And now, you had better put the whisky on the table, unless uncle would prefer some mulled port wine."

"Neither one nor the other, my dear. Your brother is half asleep, now, and it is as much as I can do to keep my eyes open. After the cold ride we have had, the sooner we get back to the George, the better.

"We will breakfast there, Carrie. I don't know what your hours are but, when I am away on a holiday, I always give myself a little extra sleep. Besides, your husband will, I suppose, have to be on duty; and I have no doubt it will suit you, as well as me, for us to breakfast at the George."

"Perhaps it will be better, uncle, if you don't mind. Gerald happens to be orderly officer for the day, and will have to get his breakfast as he can, and will be busy all the morning; but I shall be ready for you by ten."

At that hour Bob appeared, alone.

"Uncle won't come round till one o'clock, Carrie. He said he should take a quiet stroll round, by himself, and look at the ships; and that, no doubt, we should like to have a talk together."

"Is he very cross with you, Bob?" she asked, anxiously. "You know he really is kind at heart, very kind; but I am afraid he must be very hard, as a master."

"Not a bit, Carrie. I expected he was going to be so, but he isn't the least like that. He is very much liked by everyone there. He doesn't say much, and he certainly looks stiff and grim enough for anything; but he isn't so, really, not a bit."

"Didn't he scold you dreadfully about your upsetting those twelve bottles of wine?"

"He never said a word about it, and I did not know at the time he had seen me. John, the foreman—the one who used to take me out in the holidays—would not have said anything about it. He said, of course accidents did happen, sometimes, with the boys; and when they did, he himself blew them up, and there was no occasion to mention it to Mr. Bale, when it wasn't anything very serious. But of course, I could not have that; and said that either he must tell uncle, or I should.

"It really happened because my fingers were so cold I could not feel the bottle. Of course the cellar is not cold, but I had been outside, taking in a waggon load of bottles that had just arrived, and counting them, and my fingers got regularly numbed.

"So John went to the counting house, and told him about the wine being spilt. He said I wished him to tell him, and how it had happened."

"What did uncle say, Bob?"

"He said he was glad to hear that I told John to tell him; but that he knew it already, for he had just come down to the cellar when the bottles went over and, as he didn't wish to interfere with the foreman's work, had come back to the counting house without anyone noticing he had been there. He said, of course boys could not be trusted like men; and that, as he had chosen to put me there, he must put up with accidents. He never spoke about it to me, till last night."

"Well, he seemed very vexed about it, Bob, and made a great deal of it."

"He didn't mean it, Carrie; and he knew I knew he didn't mean it. He knows I am beginning to understand him."

That evening, Mr. Bale sent Bob back to the hotel by himself.

"I thought I would get him out of the way," he said, when Bob had left. "I wanted to have a chat with you about him.

"You see, Carrie, I acted hastily in taking him away from school; but it seemed to me that he must be getting into a very bad groove, to be playing such pranks as breaking out in the middle of the night. I was sorry, afterwards; partly because it had upset all my plans, partly because I was not sure that I had done the best thing by him.

"I had intended that he should have stopped for another year, at school; by that time he would be between sixteen and seventeen, and I thought of taking him into the office for six months or so, to begin with, for him to learn a little of the routine. Then I had intended to send him out to Oporto, for two years, and then to Cadiz for two years; so that he would have learnt Portuguese and Spanish well, got up all there was to learn about the different growths, and established friendly relations with my agents.

"Now, as it happens, all these plans have been upset. My agent at Oporto died, a month ago. His son succeeds him. He is a young man, and not yet married. In the first place, I don't suppose he would care about being bothered with Bob; and in the second place, boys of Bob's age are not likely to submit very quietly to the authority of a foreigner. Then, too, your brother is full of mischief and fun; and I don't suppose foreigners would understand him, in the least, and he would get into all manner of scrapes.

"My correspondent at Cadiz is an elderly man, without a family, and the same objection would arise in his case; and moreover, from what I hear from him and from other Spanish sources, there is a strong feeling against England in Spain and, now that we are at war with France, and have troubles in America, I think it likely enough they will join in against us. Of course my correspondent writes cautiously, but in his last letter he strongly advises me to buy largely, at once, as there is no saying about the future; and several of my friends in the trade have received similar advice.

"I have put the boy into the cellar for, at the moment, I could see nothing else to do with him. But really, the routine he is learning is of little importance, and there is no occasion for him to learn to do these things himself. He would pick up all he wants to know there, when he came back, in a very short time."

"Then what are you thinking of doing, uncle?" Carrie asked, after a pause, as she saw that Mr. Bale expected her to say something.

"It seems to me that a way has opened out of the difficulty. I don't want him to go back to school again. He knows quite as much Latin as is required, in an importer of wines. I want him to learn Spanish and Portuguese, and to become a gentleman, and a man of the world. I have stuck to Philpot Lane, all my life; but there is no reason why he should do so, after me. Things are changing in the city, and many of our merchants no longer live there, but have houses in the country, and drive or ride to them. Some people shake their heads over what they call newfangled notions. I think it is good for a man to get right away from his business, when he has done work.

"But this is not the point. Bob is too young to begin to learn the business abroad. Two years too young, at least. But there is no reason why he should not begin to learn Spanish. Now, I thought if I could find someone I could intrust him to, where his home would be bright and pleasant, he might go there for a couple of years. Naturally I should be prepared to pay a fair sum—say 200 pounds a year—for him, for of course no one is going to be bothered with a boy, without being paid for it."

Carrie listened for something further to come. Then her husband broke in:

"I see what you are driving at, Mr. Bale, and Carrie and myself would be delighted to have him.

"Don't you see, Carrie? Your uncle means that Bob shall stop with us, and learn the language there."

"That would be delightful!" Carrie exclaimed, enthusiastically. "Do you really mean that, uncle?"

"That is really what I do mean, niece. It seems to me that that is the very best thing we could do with the young scamp."

"It would be capital!" Carrie went on. "It is what I should like above everything."

"A nicer arrangement couldn't be, Mr. Bale. It will suit us all. Bob will learn the language, he will be a companion to Carrie when I am on duty, and we will make a man of him. But he won't be able to go out with us, I am afraid. Officers' wives and families get their passages in the transports, but I am afraid it would be no use to ask for one for Bob. Besides, we sail in four days."

"No, I will arrange about his passage, and so on.

"Well, I am glad that my proposal suits you both. The matter has been worrying me for the last three months, and it is a comfort that it is off my mind.

"I will go back to my hotel now. I will send Bob round in the morning, and you can tell him about it."

CHAPTER 4: PREPARATIONS FOR A VOYAGE.

Bob went round to the barracks at half past nine.

"Uncle says you have a piece of news to tell me, Carrie."

"My dear Bob," Captain O'Halloran said, "your uncle is a broth of a boy. He would do credit to Galway; and if anyone says anything to the contrary, I will have him out tomorrow morning."

"What has he been doing?" Bob asked.

"I told you, Carrie, yesterday, he wasn't a bit like what he seemed."

"Well, Bob, you are not going to stay at his place of business any longer."

"No! Where is he going to send me—to school again? I am not sure I should like that, Carrie. I didn't want to leave, but I don't think I should like to go back to Caesar, and Euclid, and all those wretched old books again."

"Well, you are not going, Bob."

"Hurry up, Carrie!" her husband said. "Don't you see that you are keeping the boy on thorns? Tell him the news, without beating about the bush."

"Well, it is just this, Bob. You are to come out for two years to live with us, at Gibraltar, and learn Spanish."

Bob threw his cap up to the ceiling, with a shout of delight; executed a wild dance, rushed at his sister and kissed her violently, and shook hands with her husband.

"That is glorious!" he said, when he had sufficiently recovered himself for speech. "I said uncle was a brick, didn't I? But I never dreamt of such a thing as this."

"He is going to pay, very handsomely, while you are with us, Bob, so it will be really a great help to us. Besides, we will like to have you with us. But you will have to work hard at Spanish, you know."

"Oh, I will work hard," Bob said, confidently.

"And be very steady," Captain O'Halloran said, gravely.

"Of course," Bob replied. "But who are you going to hire to teach me that?"

"You are an impudent boy, Bob," his sister said, while Captain O'Halloran burst out laughing.

"Sure, he has us both there, Carrie. I wonder your uncle did not make a proviso that we were to get one of the padres to look after him."

"As if I would let a Spanish priest look after me!" Bob said.

"I didn't mean a Spanish priest, Bob. I meant one of the army chaplains. We always call them padres.

"That would be worth thinking about, Carrie."

"Oh, I say," Bob exclaimed in alarm, "that would spoil it, altogether!"

"Well, we will see how you go on, Bob. We may not find it necessary, you know; but you will find you have to mind your P's and Q's, at Gib. It is a garrison place, you know, and they won't stand nonsense there. If you played any tricks, they would turn you outside the lines, or send you up to one of the caverns to live with the apes."

"Are there apes?" Bob asked, eagerly. "They would be awful fun, I should think. I have seen them at Exeter 'Change."

"There are apes, Bob; but if you think you are going to get near enough to put salt on their tails, you are mistaken."

"But am I going out with you?" Bob asked. "Why, tomorrow is Christmas Day, and you sail two days after, don't you? And I shouldn't have time even to go up to town, and down to Putney, to say goodbye to the fellows. I should like to do that, and tell them that I am going abroad."

"You are not going with us, Bob, and you will have time for all that. We could not take you in the transport, and uncle will arrange for a passage for you, in some ship going out. Of course, he knows all about vessels trading with Spain."

"Well, we sha'n't have to say goodbye, now," Bob said. "I haven't said much about it, but I have been thinking a lot about how horrid it would be, after being so jolly here, to have to say goodbye; knowing that I shouldn't see you again, for years and years. Now that is all over."

A few minutes later, Mr. Bale came in. He had assumed his most businesslike expression, but Bob rushed up to him.

"Oh, uncle, I am so obliged to you! It is awfully kind."

"I thought the arrangement would be a suitable one," Mr. Bale began.

"No, no, uncle," Bob broke in. "You would say that, if you were in Philpot Lane. Now you know you can say that you thought it would be the very jolliest thing that was ever heard of."

"I am afraid, niece, that the sentiment of respect for his elders is not strongly developed in Bob."

"I am afraid not, uncle; but you see, if elders set an example of being double-faced to their nephews, they must expect to forfeit their respect."

"And it is a lot better being liked than being respected, isn't it, uncle?"

"Perhaps it is, Bob, but the two things may go together."

"So they do, uncle. Only I keep my respect for Philpot Lane, and it is all liking, here."

They spent two more delightful days at Portsmouth; visited some of the ships of war, and the transport in which the 58th was to sail, and went over the dockyard. The next morning, Mr. Bale and Bob returned by the early coach to London, as the boxes and trunks and the portable furniture had to be sent off, early, on board.

Mr. Medlin was less surprised, at hearing that Bob was going to leave, than the latter had expected.

"You know, Bob, I was away one day last week. Well, I didn't tell you at the time where I was, because I was ordered not to; but your uncle said to me, the evening before:

"'I am going to drive down by coach to Windsor, Mr. Medlin, and shall be glad if you will accompany me.'

"I guessed he wanted to talk about things outside the business, and so it was. We had a capital dinner down there, and then we had a long talk about you. I told him frankly that, though I was very glad to have you with me, I really did not see that it was of any use your being kept at that work. He said that he thought so, too, and had an idea on which he wanted my opinion. He was thinking of accepting your sister's invitation to go down and spend Christmas with her; and intended to ask her if they would take charge of you, for a couple of years, in order that you might learn Spanish. Of course, I said that it was the very best thing in the world for you; and would not be any loss of time because, if you could speak Spanish well, you would learn the business much more quickly when you went to Cadiz; and need not be so long abroad, then."

"I shall be awfully sorry to go away from you, Mr. Medlin, and from Mrs. Medlin and the others. It has been so jolly with you, and you have all been so kind."

"Yes, it has been very comfortable all round, Bob, and we shall all be sorry that you are going; but I did not expect we should have you long with us. I felt sure your uncle would see he had made a mistake, in taking you into the place so young; and when he finds out he has made a mistake, he says so. Some people won't; but I have known him own up he has been wrong, after blowing up one of the boys in the cellar for something he hadn't done. Now, there is not one employer in a hundred who would do that.

"Yes, I felt sure that he would change his mind about you, and either send you back to school again or make some other arrangement; so I wasn't a bit surprised when he spoke to me, last week. Still, we shall all be sorry, Bob."

Another fortnight, passed without Bob hearing more; except that he was taken by Mr. Medlin to various shops, and a large outfit was ordered.

"You will bear in mind two things, Mr. Medlin," his employer had said. "In the first place, that my nephew will grow, in the next two years. Therefore order some of his things to fit him, now, and some to be made larger and in more manly fashion. Give instructions that, when these are finished, they are to be put in tin cases and soldered down, so as to be kept distinct from the others.

"In the second place, you will bear in mind that clothes which would be perfectly right and suitable for him, here, will not be at all suitable for him, there. He will be living with an officer, and associating entirely with military men; and there must therefore be a certain cut and fashion about his things. Of course, I don't want him to look like a young fop; but you understand what I want. There will be no boys out there, it is therefore better that he should look a little older than he is. Besides, I think that boys—and men, too—to some extent live up to their clothes.

"I do not think that I have anything else to say, Mr. Medlin; except that, as he will not be able to replace any clothes he may destroy out there, and as he is sure to be climbing about and destroying them, in one way or another, it is necessary that an ample supply should be laid in."

Mr. Medlin had scrupulously carried out all these instructions, and Bob was almost alarmed at the extent of the wardrobe ordered.

"I know what I am doing, Mr. Robert,"—for they were in the city when Bob made his protest—"I am quite sure that my employer will make no objection to my ordering largely; but he would certainly be much displeased, if I did not order what he conceived to be sufficient."

At the end of the fortnight, Mr. Bale informed Bob that he had arranged for his passage to Gibraltar in the brig Antelope.

"She is bound to Valencia for fruit. She is a fast sailer, and is well armed. There will be no other passengers on board but, as I am acquainted with the captain—who has several times brought over cargoes for me, from Cadiz and Oporto—he has agreed to take you. I would rather you had gone in a ship sailing with a convoy but, as there was a very strong one went, at the time the transports sailed, there may not be another for some time. These small vessels do not wait for convoys, but trust to their speed.

"You can now discontinue your work here, as you will probably wish to go down to Putney, to say goodbye to your friends there. The brig will sail next Monday; but you will go down on Saturday, by coach, to Southampton, where she now is. I shall request Mr. Medlin to see you on board. He tells me that your outfit is completed; and your trunks, with the exception of what will be required upon the voyage, will be sent off by the carrier waggon, on Wednesday.

"On Thursday afternoon you will leave Mr. Medlin's, and stay here till you start."

The week passed quickly. Bob enjoyed his day at Putney where, after saying goodbye to his old schoolfellows, he called upon Admiral Langton, who was very glad to hear of the change in his prospects.

"It will do you good," he said, "to go out into the world, and see a little of life. It was a dull thing, for a lad of your age and spirits, to be cooped up in a counting house in the city; but now that you are going to Gibraltar, and afterwards to Cadiz and Oporto, and will not return to settle down to business until you are one-and-twenty or so, I think that the prospect before you is a very pleasant one; and I am glad that your uncle has proved altogether different to your anticipations of him.

"Well, you are sure to see my son at Gibraltar, sometimes. I shall write to him, and tell him that you are there; and as your friend Sankey is on board the Brilliant, it will be pleasant for both of you.

"Only don't lead him into scrapes, Bob. Midshipmen are up to mischief enough, on their own account."

"Everyone always seems to think I am getting into scrapes, admiral. I don't think I get into more than other fellows."

"I rather think you do, Bob. Mr. Tulloch certainly intimated, to me, that you had a remarkable talent that way, if in no other. Besides, your face tells its own story. Pickle is marked upon it, as plainly as if it were printed.

"Now you must have supper with us, at seven o'clock, and catch the eight o'clock stage. You can stay until then, I hope?"

"Yes, sir. I told Mr. Medlin that I might not come back until the last stage."

At parting, the admiral placed a case in Bob's hands.

"There, my lad, are a brace of pistols. You won't have any use for them for some years to come, I hope; but if you stay out in Spain and Portugal, they may prove useful. Those fellows are very handy with their knives; and it is always well to be armed if you go about, at night, among them. I should advise you to practise shooting, whenever you get an opportunity. A pistol is an excellent weapon, if you really know how to use it; but is of no use at all, if you don't.

"Another thing is, you may get involved in affairs of honour. I consider duelling to be a foolish practice, but it is no use one person standing up against a crowd. It is the fashion, in our days, to fight duels and, therefore, it is almost a necessity for a gentleman to be able to shoot straight; besides, although you might be able to avoid fighting a duel with any of your countrymen, there is no possibility of getting out of it, if you become involved in a quarrel with a foreigner. In that case, an Englishman who showed the white feather would be a disgrace to his country.

"Another advantage of being a good shot—I mean a really good shot—is that, if you get forced into an affair, and are desirous of giving a lesson, but no more, to an opponent, you have it in your power to wing him; whereas, if you are only a tolerably good shot, you can't pick your spot, and may—to your lasting regret—kill him.

"But all this is in the future, Bob. I have fought several duels, myself, with those very pistols, and I am happy to say I have never killed my man; and shall be glad to believe, Bob, that they will always be used in the same spirit."

Bob's last two evenings before sailing were more pleasant than he had expected. Mr. Bale seemed to forget that he was still in Philpot Lane, and chatted with him freely and confidentially.

"I hope that I am doing the best for you, Bob. I know this is an experiment, and I can only trust that it will turn out well. I believe you have plenty of sound sense, somewhere in your head; and that this association with a number of young military men will not have any bad effect upon you; but that, after four or five years abroad, you will not be less, but rather more inclined to settle down to business. I regard you as my son, and have indeed no relations whom I care for in any way, except you and your sister. I trust that, when you come back, you will apply yourself to business; without becoming, as I have done, a slave to it.

"I might, if I chose, make you altogether independent of it; but I am sure that would not be for your good. There is nothing more unfortunate for a young man, belonging to the middle classes, than to have no fixed occupation. The heir to large estates is in a different position. He has all sorts of responsibilities. He has the pursuits of a country gentleman, and the duties of a large landowner. But the young man of our class, who does not take to business, is almost certain to go in for reckless dissipation, or gambling. I have seen numbers of young men, sons of old friends of my own, who have been absolutely ruined by being left the fortunes their fathers had made, simply because they had nothing with which to occupy their minds.

"It is for this reason, Bob, that I chiefly wish you to succeed me in my business. It is a very good one. I doubt whether any other merchant imports such large quantities of wines as I do. During the next few years I shall endeavour to give up, as far as I can, what I may call private business, and deal entirely with the trade. I have been doing so for some time, but it is very difficult to give up customers who have dealt with me, and my father before me. However, I shall curtail the business in that direction, as much as I can; and you will then find it much more easily managed. Small orders require just as much trouble in their execution as large ones; and a wholesale business is, in all respects, more satisfactory than one in which private customers are supplied, as well as the trade.

"I am entering into arrangements, now, with several travellers, for the purpose of extending my dealings with the trade in the provinces; so that when it comes into your hands you will find it more compact, and at the same time more extensive, than it is now.

"I am glad that I have had you here, for the past four months. I have had my eye upon you, more closely than you suppose; and I am pleased to see that you have worked well and willingly—far more so than I expected from you. This has much encouraged me in the hope that you will, in time, settle down to business here; and not be contented to lead a purposeless and idle life. The happiest man, in my opinion, is he who has something to do—and yet, not too much; who can, by being free from anxieties regarding it, view his business as an occupation, and a pleasure; and who is its master, and not its slave.

"I am thinking of giving Mr. Medlin a small interest in the business. I mean to make a real effort to break a little loose from it, and I have seen enough of him to know that he will make a very valuable junior. He is a little eccentric, perhaps—a sort of exaggeration of myself—but I shall signify to him that, when he comes into the firm, I consider that it will be to its advantage that he should import a little of what we may call his 'extra-official' manner into it.

"In our business, as I am well aware—although I do not possess it, myself—a certain cheerfulness of disposition, and a generally pleasing manner, are of advantage. Buyers are apt to give larger orders than they otherwise would do, under the influence of pleasant and genial relations; and Mr. Medlin can, if he chooses, make up for my deficiencies in that way.

"But I am taking the step rather in your interest than in my own. It will relieve you of a considerable portion of the burden of the business, and will enable you to relax somewhat, when you are disposed, if you have a partner in whom you can place thorough confidence.

"I do not wish you to mention this matter to him. I would rather open it to him, myself. We will go on another fishing expedition together, and I think we can approach it, then, on a more pleasant footing than we could here. He has modelled himself so thoroughly upon me that the matter could only be approached in so intensely a businesslike way, here, that I feel sure we should not arrive at anything like such a satisfactory arrangement as we might do, elsewhere."

In the course of the week, Captain Lockett of the Antelope had called at the office, and Bob had been introduced to him by Mr. Bale. He was a hearty and energetic looking man, of some five-and-thirty years of age.

"I shall want you to go to Cadiz for me, next trip, Captain Lockett," Mr. Bale said. "I am having an unusually large cargo prepared for me—enough, I fancy, to fill up your brig."

"All the better, sir," the sailor said. "There is nothing like having only one shipper—it saves time and trouble; but I should advise you to insure it for its full value, for the channel swarms with French privateers, at present; and the fellows are building them bigger, and mounting heavier guns than they used to do.

"I am mounting a long eighteen as a swivel gun, this voyage, in addition to those I carried before. But even with that, there are some of these French craft might prove very awkward customers, if they fell in with us. You see, their craft are crowded with men, and generally carry at least twice as many hands as ours. It is just the same with their fishing boats. It takes about three Frenchmen to do the work of an Englishman."

"Well, don't get caught, this time, Captain Lockett. I don't want my nephew to learn to speak French, instead of Spanish, for there is very little trade to be done in that quarter, at present; and what there is is all carried on by what I may call 'irregular' channels."

"I fancy there is a great deal of French wine comes into this country still, sir, in spite of the two nations being at war. It suits both governments to wink at the trade. We want French wine, and they want English money."

"That's so, Captain Lockett; but at any rate, we can't send English buyers out there, and must take what they choose to send."

On Saturday morning Bob said goodbye to his uncle, with an amount of feeling and regret he would have considered impossible, four months previously. Mr. Medlin accompanied him to Southampton, and the journey was a very lively one.

"Goodbye, Bob," the clerk said, as they shook hands on the deck of the Antelope. "You will be a man, when I see you again—that is, if you don't come home, for a bit, before going to the people at Cadiz and Oporto. You will be coming into the firm, then; and will be Mr. Robert, always."

"Not if we go out fishing expeditions together," Bob said, and laughed.

"Ah! Well, perhaps that will be an exception.

"Well, goodbye; a pleasant voyage to you, and don't get into more scrapes than you can help."

"Oh, I am growing out of that, Mr. Medlin!"

"Not you, Bob. They may be different sorts of scrapes, in the future; but scrapes there will be, or I am a Dutchman."

"Well, youngster, are you a good sailor?" the captain asked; as the Antelope, with all sail set, ran down Southampton water.

"I hope I am, captain, but I don't know, yet. I have gone out sailing in boats at Plymouth several times, in rough weather, and have never felt a bit ill; but I don't know how it will be, in a ship like this."

"If you can sail in rough water in a boat, without feeling ill, you ought to be all right here, lad. She is an easy craft, as well as a fast one; and makes good weather of it, in anything short of a gale.

"There is eight bells striking—that means eight o'clock, and breakfast. You had better lay in as good a store as you can. We shall be outside the Needles, if the wind holds, by dinnertime; and you may not feel so ready for it, then."

The second mate breakfasted in the cabin with the captain and Bob, the first mate remaining on deck. The second mate was a young man of three or four and twenty, a cousin of the captain. He was a frank, pleasant-faced young sailor, and Bob felt that he should like him.

"How many days do you expect to be in getting to Gibraltar, captain?"

"About ten, if we have luck; twenty if we haven't. There is never any saying."

"How many men do you carry?"

"Twenty-eight seamen, the cook, the steward, two mates, and myself; and there are three boys. Thirty-six all told."

"I see you have eight guns, besides the pivot gun."

"Yes. We have plenty of hands for working them, if we only have to fight one side at once; but we shouldn't be very strong handed, if we had to work both broadsides. There are four sixteen pounders, four twelves, and the pivot; so that gives three men to a gun, besides officers and idlers. Three men is enough for the twelves, but it makes rather slow work with the sixteens. However, we may hope that we sha'n't have to work both broadsides at once.

"We carry a letter of marque so that, in case of our having the luck to fall in with a French trader, we can bring her in. But that is not our business. We are peaceful traders, and don't want to show our teeth, unless we are interfered with."

To Bob's great satisfaction, he found that he was able to eat his dinner with unimpaired appetite; although the Antelope was clear of the island, and was bowing deeply to a lively sea. The first mate—a powerful looking man of forty, who had lost one eye, and whose face was deeply seamed by an explosion of powder in an engagement with a French privateer—came down to the meal, while the second mate took the duty on deck. Bob found some difficulty in keeping his dish before him, for the Antelope was lying well over, with a northerly wind abeam.

"She is travelling well, Probert," the captain said. "We have got her in capital trim, this time. Last time we were too light, and could not stand up to our sails.

"If this wind holds, we shall make a fast run of it. We will keep her well inshore, until we get down to the Scillys; and then stretch across the bay. The nearer we keep to the coast, the less fear there is of our running against one of those French privateers."

The wind held steady, and Bob enjoyed the voyage immensely, as the brig sailed along the coast. After passing Portland Bill they lost sight of land until, after eight hours' run, a bold headland appeared on the weather beam.

"That is the Start," the captain said. "When I get abeam of it we shall take our bearings, and then shape our course across the bay. If this wind does but hold, we shall make quick work of it."

Presently the tiller was put up and, as the brig's head paid off, the yards were braced square; and she ran rapidly along towards the southwest, with the wind nearly dead aft. The next morning when Bob went on deck he found that the wind had dropped, and the brig was scarcely moving through the water.

"This is a change, Mr. Probert," he said to the first mate, who was in charge of the deck.

"Yes, and not a pleasant one," the officer replied. "I don't like the look of the sky, either. I have just sent down to the captain, to ask him to step on deck."

Bob looked round. The sky was no longer bright and clear. There was a dull, heavy look overhead; and a smoky haze seemed to hang over the horizon, all round. Bob thought it looked dull, but wondered why the mate should send for the captain.

The latter came up on deck, in a minute or two.

"I don't much like the look of the sky, sir," the mate said. "The wind has died suddenly out, this last half hour; and the swell has got more kick in it than it had. I fancy the wind is going round to the southwest; and that, when it does come, it will come hard."

"I think you are right, Mr. Probert. I glanced at the glass, as I came up, and it has fallen half an inch since I was up on deck in the middle watch. I think you had better begin to take in sail, at once. Call the watch up from below. It is not coming yet; but we may as well strip her, at once."

The mate gave the order to the boatswain, whose shrill whistle sounded out, followed by the shout of "All hands to take in sail!"

The watch below tumbled up.

"Take the royals and topgallant sails off her, Mr. Probert. Double reef the topsails, and get in the courses."

Bob watched the men as they worked aloft, and marvelled at the seeming carelessness with which they hung on, where the slip of a foot or hand would mean sudden death; and wondered whether he could ever attain such steadiness of head. Three quarters of an hour's hard work and the mast was stripped, save for the reduced topsails.

"Get in two of the jibs, and brail up the spanker."

This was short work. When it was done the second mate, who had been working forward, looked to the captain for further orders. The latter had again gone below, but was now standing on the poop, talking earnestly with the first mate.

"Yes, I think you are right," Bob heard the captain say. "The glass is still falling and, very likely, it will be some time before we want these light spars again. There is nothing like being snug."

"Aloft again, lads!" the mate sung out, "and send down the yards and topgallant masts."

"Now she is ready for anything," the captain said, when the men again descended to the deck.

Bob, who had been so intently watching the men that he had not looked round at the sky, since they first went aloft, now had time to do so; and was startled with the change that had come over the sea, and sky. There was not a breath of wind. There was a dull, oily look on the water, as it heaved in long, regular waves, unbroken by the slightest ripple. Black clouds had banked up from the southwest, and extended in a heavy arch across the sky, but little ahead of the brig. From its edge ragged, fragments seemed to break off suddenly, and fly out ahead.

"It is going to blow, and no mistake," the captain said. "It is lucky that we have had plenty of time to get her into fighting trim.

"You had better get hold of something, lad, and clutch it tight. It will begin with a heavy squall and, like enough, lay her pretty well over on her beam ends, when it strikes her."

Higher and higher the threatening arch rose, till its edge stood over the mainmast. Then the captain cried:

"Here it comes, lads. Hold on, every one!"

Looking ahead, Bob saw a white line. It approached with wonderful rapidity, and with a confused, rushing sound. Then in a moment he felt himself clinging, as if for life, to the stanchion of which he had taken hold. The wind almost wrenched him from his feet while, at the same moment, a perfect deluge of water came down upon him.

He felt the brig going further and further over, till the deck beneath his feet seemed almost perpendicular. The captain and first mate had both grasped the spokes of the wheel, and were aiding the helmsman in jamming it down. Bob had no longer a hold for his feet, and was hanging by his arms. Looking down, the sea seemed almost beneath him but, with a desperate effort, he got hold of the rail with one hand, and then hauled himself up under it, clinging tight to the main shrouds. Then he saw the second mate loose the jib halliards, while one of the sailors threw off the fore-staysail sheet, and the spanker slowly brought the brig's head up into the wind.

As it did so she righted, gradually, and Bob regained his place on deck; which was still, however, lying over at a very considerable angle. The captain raised his hand, and pointed to the main topsail; and the second mate at once made his way aft with some of the men and, laying out on the weather rigging, made his way aloft. The danger seemed, to Bob, so frightful that he dared not look up. He could hear, through the pauses of the blast, the mate shout to the men above him and, in a few minutes, they again descended to the deck.

Even Bob could feel how much the brig was relieved, when the pressure of the topsail was taken off. The lower planks of the deck rose from the water and, although this still rushed in and out through the scupper holes, and rose at times to the level of the bulwark rail, he felt that the worst was over.

One of the men was called to assist at the helm, and the captain and mate came forward to the poop rail.

"That was touch and go, youngster!" the former shouted to Bob.

"It was," Bob said. "More go than touch, I should say; for I thought she had gone, altogether."

"You had better go below, and change your things. Tell the steward to bring me my oilskins, out of my cabin. You had better keep below, until this rain has stopped."

Bob thought the advice was good; so he went down and got into dry clothes, and then lay down on the cabin sofa, to leeward—he could not have kept his place, on the other side. The rain was still falling so heavily, on deck, that it sounded like a waggon passing overhead; and mingled with this noise was the howl of the wind, and the swashing of the water against the ship's side. Gradually the motion of the vessel became more violent, and she quivered from bow to stern, as the waves struck her.

Although it was early in the afternoon, it became almost as dark as night in the cabin. The steward had brought him a glass of hot grog, as soon as he had changed his clothes and, in spite of the din, he presently fell off to sleep. When he woke the rain had ceased; but the uproar caused by the howling of the wind, the creaking of the spars, and the dashing of the waves was as loud as before.

He soon made his way up on deck, and found that a tremendous sea was running. The fore-topsail had been got off the ship, the weather sheets of the jib and fore-staysail hauled across, and the vessel was making comparatively little way through the water. She was, in fact—although Bob did not know it—lying to, under these sails and the spanker.

It all looked so terrible, to him, that he kept his place but a few minutes; and was then glad to return to the sofa, below. In a short time, the captain came down.

"How are you getting on, lad? All in the dark, eh?

"Steward, light the lamp, and bring me a tumbler of hot grog. Keep the water boiling; the other officers will be down, directly.

"Well, what do you think of it, young gentleman?"

"I don't like it, at all," Bob said. "I thought I should like to see a storm, but I never want to see one, again."

"I am not surprised at that," the captain said, with a laugh. "It is all very well to read about storms, but it is a very different thing to be caught in one."

"Is there any danger, sir?"

"There is always more or less danger, in a storm, lad; but I hope, and think, the worst is over. We are in for a heavy gale but, now that the brig has got through the first burst, there is not much fear of her weathering it. She is a capital sea boat, well found and in good trim; and we were fortunate enough in having sufficient warning to get her snug, before the first burst came.

"That is always the most dangerous point. When a ship has way on her, she can stand almost any gale; but when she is caught by a heavy squall, when she is lying becalmed, you have to look out. However, she got through that without losing anything; and she is lying to, now, under the smallest possible canvas and, if all goes well, there is no reason, whatever, for anxiety."

"What do you mean by 'if all goes well,' captain?"

"I mean as long as one of her masts isn't carried away, or anything of that sort. I daresay you think it rough, now, but it is nothing to what it will be by tomorrow morning. I should advise you to turn in, at once. You could see nothing, if you went up; and would run the risk of being washed overboard, or of getting a limb broken."

Bob's recollections of his position, as the ship heeled over when the storm struck her, were still far too vivid for him to have any desire for a repetition of it; and he accordingly took the captain's advice, and turned in at once.

When he got up in the morning and, with some difficulty, made his way on deck he found that, as the captain predicted, the sea was far heavier than the night before. Great ridges of water bore down upon the ship, each seeming as if it would overwhelm her; and for the first few minutes Bob expected to see the brig go, head foremost, and sink under his feet. It was not till he reflected that she had lived through it for hours that he began to view the scene with composure. Although the waves were much higher than when he had left the deck on the previous afternoon, the scene was really less terrifying.

The sky was covered with masses of gray cloud, ragged and torn, hurrying along with great velocity, apparently but a short distance above the masthead. When the vessel rose on a wave, it seemed to him that the clouds, in places, almost touched the water, and mingled with the masses of spray caught up by the waves. The scud, borne along by the wind, struck his face with a force that caused it to smart and, for a time, he was unable to face the gale even for a minute.

The decks were streaming with water. The boats had disappeared from the davits, and a clean sweep seemed to have been made of everything movable. Forward was a big gap in the bulwark and, as the brig met the great waves, masses of green water poured in through this, and swept along the deck waist deep. The brig was under the same sail as before, except that she now showed a closely-reefed fore-topsail.

When he became a little accustomed to the sea, and to the motion, he watched his time; and then made a rush across from the companion to the weather bulwark, and got a firm hold of one of the shrouds. The captain and the second mate were on the poop, near the wheel. The former made his way to him.

"Good morning, Master Repton! Managed to get some sleep?"

"Yes, I have slept all night, captain. I say, isn't this tremendous? I did not think anything could be like this. It is splendid, you know, but it takes one's breath away.

"I don't think it is blowing quite so hard, is it?"

"Every bit as hard, but it is more regular, and you are accustomed to it."

"But I see you have got up some more sail."

"Yes, that's to steady her. You see, when she gets into the trough between these great waves, the lower sails are almost becalmed; and we are obliged to show something above them, to keep a little way on her. We are still lying to, you see, and meet the waves head on. If her head was to fall off a few points, and one of these waves took her on the beam, she would go down like a stone.

"Yes, the brig is doing very handsomely. She has a fine run, more like a schooner than a brig; and she meets the waves easily, and rises to them as lightly as a feather. She is a beauty!

"If you are going to stay here, lad, you had better lash yourself; for it is not safe, standing as you are."

CHAPTER 5: A FRENCH PRIVATEER.

As he became more accustomed to the scene around him, and found that the waves were more terrible in appearance than reality, Bob began to enjoy it, and to take in its grandeur and wildness. The bareness of the deck had struck him, at once; and he now saw that four of the cannon were gone—the two forward guns, on each side—and he rightly supposed that these must have been run out, and tumbled overboard, to lighten the ship forward, and enable her to rise more easily to the waves.

An hour later, the second mate came along.

"You had better come down and get some breakfast," he said. "I am going down first."

Bob threw off the rope, and followed the mate down into the cabin. Mr. Probert had just turned out. He had been lying down for two or three hours, having gone down as daylight broke.

"The captain says you had better take something before you go on deck, Mr. Probert," the second mate said. "He will come down, afterwards, and turn in for an hour or two."

"No change, I suppose?"

"No. She goes over it like a duck. The seas are more regular, now, and she is making good weather of it."

Bob wondered, in his own mind, what she would do if she was making bad weather.

The meal was an irregular one. The steward brought in three large mugs, half filled with coffee; a basket of biscuits, and a ham. From this he cut off some slices, which he laid on biscuits; and each of them ate their breakfast, holding their mugs in one hand, and their biscuits and ham in the other.

As soon as they had finished, the two officers went on deck and, directly afterwards, the captain came down. Bob chatted with him until he had finished his breakfast, and then went up on deck again, for two or three hours. At the end of that time he felt so completely exhausted, from the force of the wind and the constant change of the angle at which he was standing, that he was glad to go below and lie down again.

There was no regular dinner, the officers coming below by turns, and taking a biscuit and a chunk of cold meat, standing. But at teatime the captain and second mate came down together; and Bob, who had again been up on deck for a bit, joined them in taking a large bowl of coffee.

"I think the wind is blowing harder than ever," he said to the captain.

"Yes, the glass has begun to rise a little, and that is generally a sign you are getting to the worst of it. I expect it is a three days' gale, and we shall have it at its worst, tonight. I hope by this time, tomorrow, we shall be beginning to shake out our reefs.

"You had better not go up, any more. It will be dark in half an hour, and your bunk is the best place for you."

Bob was not sorry to obey the order, for he felt that the scene would be a very terrible one, after dark. The night, however, seemed to him to be a miserably long one; for he was only able to doze off occasionally, the motion being so violent that he had to jam himself in his berth, to prevent himself from being thrown out. The blows with which the waves struck the ship were tremendous; and so deeply did she pitch that, more than once, he thought that she would never come up again; but go down, head foremost. Once he thought he heard a crash, and there were orders shouted, on the deck above him; but he resisted the desire to go up and see what it was, for he knew that he could do nothing; and that, in the darkness, he could see but little of what was going on.

With the first gleam of daylight, however, he got out of the bunk. He had not attempted to undress, having taken off his shoes, only, when he lay down. Having put these on again, he went up. There was but little change since the previous morning but, looking forward, he saw that the bowsprit was gone, and the fore-topmast had been carried away. The sea was as high as ever, but patches of blue sky showed overhead between the clouds, and the wind was blowing somewhat less violently.

"We have been in the wars, you see, youngster," the captain said, when Bob made his way aft; "but we may thank God it was no worse. We have had a pretty close squeak of it, but the worst is over, now. The wind is going down, and the gale will have blown itself out by this evening. It was touch-and-go several times during the night and, if she had had a few more tons of cargo in her, she would never have risen from some of those waves; but I think, now, we shall see Oporto safely—which was more than I expected, about midnight."

For some hours Bob, himself, had considerable doubts as to this, so deeply did the brig bury herself in the waves; but after twelve o'clock the wind fell rapidly and, although the waves showed no signs of decreasing in height, their surface was smoother, and they seemed to strike the vessel with less force and violence.

"Now, Mr. Probert," said the captain, "do you and Joe turn in, till first watch. I will take charge of the deck. After that, you can set regular watches again."

The main-topsail was already on her and, at six o'clock, the captain had two of its reefs shaken out; and the other reef was also loosed, when Mr. Probert came up and took charge of the first watch, at eight bells. That night Bob lay on the floor, for the motion was more violent than before—the vessel rolling, gunwale under—for the wind no longer pressed upon her sails, and kept her steady, and he would have found it impossible to maintain his position in his berth.

In the morning, he went up. The sun was rising in an unclouded sky. There was scarce a breath of wind. The waves came along in high, glassy rollers—smooth mounds of water which extended, right and left, in deep valleys and high ridges. The vessel was rolling tremendously, the lower yards sometimes touching the water. Bob had to wait some time before he could make a rush across to the bulwark and, when he did so, found it almost impossible to keep his feet. He could see that the men forward were no longer crouching for shelter under the break of the fo'castle, but were holding on by the shrouds or stays, smoking their pipes, and laughing and joking together. Until the motion abated somewhat, it was clearly impossible to commence the work of getting things in order.

"Did the bowsprit and mast both go, together?" Bob asked Joe Lockett, who was holding on to the bulwark, near him.

"Yes, the bowsprit went with the strain when she rose, having buried herself halfway up the waist; and the topmast snapped like a carrot, a moment later. That was the worst dive we made. There is no doubt that getting rid of the leverage of the bowsprit, right up in her eyes, eased her a good bit; and as the topmast was a pretty heavy spar, too, that also helped."

"How long will it be before the sea goes down?"

"If you mean goes down enough for us to get to work—a few hours. If you mean goes down altogether, it will be five or six days before this swell has quite flattened down, unless a wind springs up from some other quarter."

"I meant till the mast can be got up again."

"Well, this afternoon the captain may set the men at work; but I don't think they would do much good, and there would be a good chance of getting a limb broken. As long as this calm holds there is no hurry, one way or the other."

"You mean, because we couldn't be sailing, even if we had everything set?"

"Well, yes, that is something, but I didn't mean that. I am not thinking so much of our sailing, as of other people's. We are not very fit, as we are now, either for fighting or running, and I should be sorry to see a French privateer coming along; but as long as the calm continues, there is no fear of that; and I expect there have been few ships out, in this gale, who have not got repairs to do as well as we have."

After dinner, an effort was made to begin the work; but the captain soon ordered the men to desist.

"It is of no use, Mr. Probert. We shall only be getting some of the men killed. It wouldn't be possible to get half done before dark and, if the sea goes down a bit, tonight, they will get as much done in an hour's work, in the morning, as they would if they were to work from now to sunset.

"The carpenter might get some canvas, and nail it so as to hide those gaps in the bulwark. That will be something done. The boys can give it a coat of paint, in the morning. But as for the spar, we must leave it."

All hands were at work, next morning, with the first gleam of daylight. The rollers were still almost as high as the day before; but there was now a slight breath of wind, which sufficed to give the vessel steerage way. She was put head to the rollers, changing the motion from the tremendous rolling, when she was lying broadside to them, for a regular rise and fall that interfered but little with the work. A spare spar was fitted in the place of the bowsprit, the stump of the topmast was sent down, and the topgallant mast fitted in its place and, by midday, the light spars were all in their places again, and the brig was showing a fair spread of canvas; and a casual observer would, at a distance, have noticed but slight change in her appearance.

"That has been a good morning's work," the captain said, as they sat down to dinner. "We are a little short of head-sail, but that will make no great difference in our rate of sailing, especially if the wind is aft. We are ready to meet with another storm again, if it should come—which is not likely.

"We are ready for anything, in fact, except a heavily-armed privateer. The loss of four of our guns has crippled us. But there was no choice about the matter; it went against my heart to see them go overboard, but it was better to lose four guns than to lose the ship.

"I hope we shall meet with nothing till we get through the Straits. I may be able to pick up some guns, at Gibraltar. Prizes are often brought in there, and condemned, and there are sales of stores; so I hope to be able to get her into regular fighting trim, again, before I clear out from there.

"I should think you won't be sorry when we drop anchor off the Mole, youngster?"

"I am in no hurry, now," Bob said. "I would have given a good deal—if I had had it—two days ago, to have been on dry land but, now that we are all right again, I don't care how long we are, before we get there. It is very warm and pleasant, a wonderful change after what it was when we sailed.

"Whereabouts are we, captain?"

"We are a good bit farther to the east than I like," the captain replied. "We have been blown a long way into the bay. There is a great set of current, in here. We have drifted nearly fifty miles in, since noon yesterday. We are in 4 degrees 50 minutes west longitude, and 45 degrees latitude."

"I don't think that means anything to me."

"No, I suppose not," the captain laughed. "Well, it means we are nearly due west of Bordeaux, and about one hundred miles from the French coast, and a little more than eighty north of Santander, on the Spanish coast. As the wind is sou'-sou'west we can lay our course for Cape Ortegal and, once round there, we shall feel more comfortable."

"But don't you feel comfortable at present, captain?"

"Well, not altogether. We are a good deal too close in to the French coast; and we are just on the track of any privateer that may be making for Bordeaux, from the west or south, or going out in those directions. So, although I can't say I am absolutely uncomfortable, I shall be certainly glad when we are back again on the regular track of our own line of traffic for the Straits or Portugal. There are English cruisers on that line, and privateers on the lookout for the French, so that the sound of guns might bring something up to our assistance; but there is not much chance of meeting with a friendly craft, here—unless it has, like ourselves, been blown out of its course."

A lookout had already been placed aloft. Several sails were seen in the distance, in the course of the afternoon, but nothing that excited suspicion. The wind continued light and, although the brig had every sail set, she was not making more than five and a half knots an hour through the water. In the evening the wind dropped still more and, by nine o'clock, the brig had scarcely steerage way.

"It is enough to put a saint out of temper," the captain said, as he came down into the cabin, and mixed himself a glass of grog before turning in. "If the wind had held, we should have been pretty nearly off Finisterre, by morning. As it is, we haven't made more than forty knots since we took the observation, at noon."

Bob woke once in the night; and knew, by the rippling sound of water, and by the slight inclination of his berth, that the breeze had sprung up again. When he woke again the sun was shining brightly, and he got up and dressed leisurely; but as he went into the cabin he heard some orders given, in a sharp tone, by the captain on deck, and quickened his pace up the companion, to see what was going on.

"Good morning, Mr. Lockett!" he said to the second mate, who was standing close by, looking up at the sails.

"Good morning, Master Repton!" he replied, somewhat more shortly than usual.

"There is a nice breeze this morning," Bob went on. "We seem going on at a good rate."

"I wish she were going twice as fast," the mate said. "There is a gentleman over there who seems anxious to have a talk with us, and we don't want to make his acquaintance."

Bob looked round and saw, over the quarter, a large lugger some three miles away.

"What vessel is that?" he asked.

"That is a French privateer—at least, there is very little doubt about it. We must have passed each other in the dark for, when we first made him out, he was about four miles away, sailing northeast. He apparently sighted us, just as we made him out; and hauled his wind, at once. He has gained about a mile on us, in the last two hours. We have changed our course; and are sailing, as you see, northwest, so as to bring the wind on our quarter; and I don't think that fellow has come up much, since. Still, he does come up. We feel the loss of our sail, now."

It seemed to Bob, looking up, that there was already an immense amount of canvas on the brig. Stunsails had been set on her, and she was running very fast through the water.

"We seem to have more canvas set than that vessel behind us," he said.

"Yes, we have more, but those luggers sail like witches. They are splendid boats, but they want very big crews to work them. That is the reason why you scarcely ever see them, with us, except as fishing craft, or something of that sort. I daresay that lugger has a hundred men on board—eighty, anyhow—so it is no wonder we sometimes get the worst of it. They always carry three hands to our two and, very often, two to our one. Of course we are really a trader, though we do carry a letter of marque. If we were a regular privateer, we should carry twice as many hands as we do."

Walking to the poop rail, Bob saw that the men were bringing up shot, and putting them in the racks by the guns. The breech covers had been taken off. The first officer was overlooking the work.

"Well, lad," Captain Lockett said, coming up to him, "you see that unlucky calm has got us into a mess, after all and, unless the wind drops again, we are going to have to fight for it."

"Would the wind dropping help us, sir?"

"Yes, we have more canvas on her than the lugger carries and, if the breeze were lighter, should steal away from her. As it is, she doesn't gain much; but she does gain and, in another two or three hours, she will be sending a messenger to ask us to stop."

"And what will you do, captain?"

"We shall send another messenger back, to tell her to mind her own business. Then it will be a question of good shooting. If we can knock out one of her masts, we shall get off; if we can't, the chances are we shall see the inside of a French prison.

"If she once gets alongside, it is all up with us. She can carry us, by boarding; for she can throw three times our strength of men on to our deck."

There was but little talking on board the brig. When the men had finished their preparations, they stood waiting by the bulwarks; watching the vessel in chase of them, and occasionally speaking together in low tones.

"You may as well pipe the hands to breakfast, Mr. Probert. I have told the cook to give them an extra good meal. After that, I will say a few words to them.

"Now, Master Repton, we may as well have our meal. We mayn't get another good one, for some time; but I still hope that we shall be able to cripple that fellow. I have great faith in that long eighteen. The boatswain is an old man-o'-war's-man, and is a capital shot. I am a pretty good one, myself and, as the sea is smooth, and we have a good steady platform to fire from, I have good hope we shall cripple that fellow before he comes up to us."

There was more talking than usual, at breakfast. Captain Lockett and the second mate both laughed, and joked, over the approaching fight. Mr. Probert was always a man of few words, and he said but little, now.

"The sooner they come up, the better," he growled. "I hate this running away, especially when you can't run fastest."

"The men will all do their best, I suppose, Probert? You have been down among them."

The first mate nodded.

"They don't want to see the inside of a prison, captain, no more than I do. They will stick to the guns; but I fancy they know, well enough, it will be no use if it comes to boarding."

"No use at all, Probert. I quite agree with you, there. If she comes up alongside, we must haul down the flag. It is of no use throwing away the men's lives, by fighting against such odds as that. But we mustn't let her get up."

"That is it, sir. We have got to keep her off, if it can be done. We shall have to haul our wind a little, when we begin, so as to get that eighteen to bear on her."

"Yes, we must do that," the captain said. "Then we will get the other four guns over on the same side."

After breakfast was over, the captain went up and took his station at the poop rail. The men had finished their breakfast and, on seeing that the captain was about to address them, moved aft.

"My lads," he said, "that Frenchman behind will be within range, in the course of another hour. What we have got to do is to knock some of her spars out of her and, as she comes up slowly, we shall have plenty of time to do it. I daresay she carries a good many more guns than we do, but I do not suppose that they are heavier metal. If she got alongside of us, she would be more than our match; but I don't propose to let her get alongside and, as I don't imagine any of you wish to see the inside of a French prison, I know you will all do your best.

"Let there be no hurrying in your fire. Aim at her spars, and don't throw a shot away. The chances are all in our favour; for we can fight all our guns, while she can fight only her bow chasers—at any rate, until she bears up. She doesn't gain on us much now and, when she comes to get a few shot holes in her sails, it will make the difference. I shall give ten guineas to be divided among the men at the first gun that knocks away one of her spars; and five guineas, besides, to the man who lays the gun."

The men gave a cheer.

"Get the guns all over to the port side. I shall haul her wind, a little, as soon as we are within range."

By five bells, the lugger was within a mile and a half. The men were already clustered round the pivot gun.

"Put her helm down, a little," the captain ordered. "That is enough.

"Now, boatswain, you are well within range. Let us see what you can do. Fire when you have got her well on your sights."

A few seconds later there was a flash, and a roar. All eyes were directed on the lugger, which the captain was watching through his glass. There was a shout from the men. The ball had passed through the great foresail, a couple of feet from the mast.

"Very good," the captain said. "Give her a trifle more elevation, next time. If you can hit the yard, it will be just as good as hitting the mast.

"Ah! There she goes!"

Two puffs of white smoke broke out from the lugger's bow. One shot struck the water nearly abreast of the brig, at a distance of ten yards. The other fell short.

"Fourteens!" the captain said. "I thought she wouldn't have eighteens, so far forward."

Shot after shot was fired but, so far, no serious damage had been caused by them. The brig had been hulled once, and two shots had passed through her sails.

The captain went, himself, to the pivot gun; and laid it carefully. Bob stood watching the lugger intently, and gave a shout as he saw the foresail run rapidly down.

"It is only the slings cut," the second mate—who was standing by him—said. "They will have it up again, in a minute. If the shot had been the least bit lower, it would have smashed the yard."

The lugger came into the wind and, as she did so, eight guns flashed out from her side while, almost at the same moment, the four broadside guns of the Antelope were, for the first time, discharged. Bob felt horribly uncomfortable, for a moment, as the shot hummed overhead; cutting one of the stunsail booms in two, and making five fresh holes in the sails.

"Take the men from the small guns, Joe, and get that sail in," the captain said. "Its loss is of no consequence."

In half a minute, the lugger's foresail again rose; and she continued the chase, heading straight for the brig.

"He doesn't like this game of long bowls, Probert," the captain said. "He intends to come up to board, instead of trusting to his guns.

"Now, boatswain, you try again."

The brig was now sailing somewhat across the lugger's bows, so that her broadside guns—trained as far as possible aft—could all play upon her; and a steady fire was kept up, to which she only replied by her two bow chasers One of the men had been knocked down, and wounded, by a splinter from the bulwark; but no serious damage had so far been inflicted, while the sails of the lugger were spotted with shot holes.

Bob wished, heartily, that he had something to do; and would have been glad to have followed the first mate's example—that officer having thrown off his coat, and taken the place of the wounded man in working a gun—but he felt that he would only be in the way, did he try to assist. Steadily the lugger came up, until she was little more than a quarter of a mile behind them.

"Now, lads," the captain shouted, "double shot the guns—this is your last chance. Lay your guns carefully, and all fire together, when I give the word.

"Now, are you all ready? Fire!"

The five guns flashed out together, and the ten shot sped on their way. The splinters flew from the lugger's foremast, in two places; but a cry of disappointment rose, as it was seen that it was practically uninjured.

"Look, look!" the captain shouted. "Hurrah, lads!" and a cloud of white canvas fell over, to leeward of the lugger.

Her two masts were nearly in line, and the shot that had narrowly missed the foremast, and passed through the foresail, had struck the mainmast and brought it, and its sail, overboard. The crew of the brig raised a general cheer. A minute before a French prison had stared them in the face, and now they were free. The helm was instantly put up, and the brig bore straight away from her pursuer.

"What do you say, Probert? Shall we turn the tables, now, and give her a pounding?"

"I should like to, sir, nothing better; but it would be dangerous work. Directly she gets free of that hamper, she will be under command, and will be able to bring her broadside to play on us; and if she had luck, and knocked away one of our spars, she would turn the tables upon us. Besides, even if we made her strike her colours, we could never take her into port. Strong handed as she is, we should not dare to send a prize crew on board."

"You are right, Probert—though it does seem a pity to let her go scot free, when we have got her almost at our mercy."

"Not quite, sir. Look there."

The lugger had managed to bring her head sufficiently up into the wind for her broadside guns to bear, and the shot came hurtling overhead. The yard of the main-topsail was cut in sunder, and the peak halliard of the spanker severed, and the peak came down with a run. They could hear a faint cheer come across the water from the lugger.

"Leave the guns, lads, and repair damages!" the captain shouted.

"Throw off the throat halliards of the spanker, get her down, and send a hand up to reef a fresh rope through the blocks, Mr. Probert.

"Joe, take eight men with you, and stow away the topsail. Send the broken yard down.

"Carpenter, see if you have got a light spar that will do, instead of it. If not, get two small ones, and lash them so as to make a splice of it."

In a minute the guns of the lugger spoke out again but, although a few ropes were cut away, and some more holes made in the sails, no serious damage was inflicted and, before they were again loaded, the spanker was rehoisted. The lugger continued to fire, but the brig was now leaving her fast. As soon as the sail was up, the pivot gun was again set to work; and the lugger was hulled several times but, seeing that her chance of disabling the brig was small, she was again brought before the wind.

In half an hour a new topsail yard was ready, and that sail was again hoisted. The Antelope had now got three miles away from the lugger. As the sail sheeted home, the second mate shouted, from aloft:

"There is a sail on the weather bow, sir! She is close hauled, and sailing across our head."

"I see her," the captain replied.

"We ought to have noticed her before, Mr. Probert. We have all been so busy that we haven't been keeping a lookout.

"What do you make her to be, Joe?" he said to the second mate.

"I should say she was a French frigate, sir."

The captain ascended the shrouds with his glass, remained there two or three minutes watching the ship, and then returned to the deck.

"She is a frigate, certainly, Mr. Probert, and by the cut of her sails I should say a Frenchman. We are in an awkward fix. She has got the weather gage of us. Do you think, if we put up helm and ran due north, we should come out ahead of her?"

The mate shook his head.

"Not if the wind freshens, sir, as I think it will. I should say we had best haul our wind, and make for one of the Spanish ports. We might get into Santander."

"Yes, that would be our best chance.

"All hands 'bout ship!"

The vessel's head was brought up into the wind, and payed off on the other tack, heading south—the frigate being, now, on her weather quarter. This course took the brig within a mile and a half of the lugger, which fired a few harmless shots at her. When she had passed beyond the range of her guns, she shaped her course southeast by east for Santander, the frigate being now dead astern. The men were then piped to dinner.

"Is she likely to catch us, sir?" Bob asked, as they sat down to table.

"I hope not, lad. I don't think she will, unless the wind freshens a good deal. If it did, she would come up hand over hand.

"I take it she is twelve miles off, now. It is four bells, and she has only got five hours' daylight, at most. However fast she is, she ought not to gain a knot and a half an hour, in this breeze and, if we are five or six miles ahead when it gets dark, we can change our course. There is no moon."

They were not long below.

"The lugger is under sail again, sir," the second mate, who was on duty, said as they gained the deck.

"They haven't been long getting up a jury mast," Captain Lockett said. "That is the best of a lug rig. Still, they have a smart crew on board."

He directed his glass towards the lugger, which was some five miles away.

"It is a good-sized spar," he said, "nearly as lofty as the foremast. She is carrying her mainsail with two reefs in it and, with the wind on her quarter, is travelling pretty nearly as fast as she did before. Still, she can't catch us, and she knows it.

"Do you see, Mr. Probert, she is bearing rather more to the north. She reckons, I fancy, that after it gets dark we may try to throw the frigate out; and may make up that way, in which case she would have a good chance of cutting us off. That is awkward, for the frigate will know that; and will guess that, instead of wearing round that way, we shall be more likely to make the other."

"That is so," the mate agreed. "Still, we shall have the choice of either hauling our wind and making south by west, or of running on, and she can't tell which we shall choose."

"That is right enough. It is just a toss up. If we run, and she runs, she will overtake us; if we haul up close into the wind, and she does the same, she will overtake us, again; but if we do one thing, and she does the other, we are safe.

"Then again, we may give her more westing, after it gets dark, and bear the same course the lugger is taking. She certainly won't gain on us, and I fancy we shall gain a bit on her. Then in the morning, if the frigate is out of sight, we can make for Santander, which will be pretty nearly due south of us, then; or, if the lugger is left well astern we can make a leg north, and then get on our old course again, for Cape Ortegal. The lugger would see it was of no use chasing us, any further."

"Yes, I think that is the best plan of the three, captain.

"I see the frigate is coming up. I can just make out the line of her hull. She must be a fast craft."

The hours passed on slowly. Fortunately the wind did not freshen, and the vessels maintained their respective positions towards each other. The frigate was coming up, but, when it began to get dusk, she was still some six miles astern. The lugger was five miles away, on the lee quarter, and three miles northeast of the frigate. She was still pursuing a line that would take her four miles to the north of the brig's present position. The coast of Spain could be seen stretching along to the southward. Another hour and it was perfectly dark and, even with the night glasses, the frigate could no longer be made out.

"Starboard your helm," the captain said, to the man at the wheel. "Lay her head due east."

"I fancy the wind is dying away, sir," Mr. Probert said.

"So long as it don't come a stark calm, I don't care," the captain replied. "That would be the worst thing that could happen, for we should have the frigate's boats after us; but a light breeze would suit us, admirably."

Two hours later, the wind had almost died out.

"We will take all the sails off her, Mr. Probert. If the frigate keeps on the course she was steering when we last saw her, she will go two miles to the south of us; and the lugger will go more than that to the north. If they hold on all night, they will be hull down before morning; and we shall be to windward of them and, with the wind light, the frigate would never catch us; and we know the lugger wouldn't, with her reduced sails."

In a few minutes all the sails were lowered, and the brig lay motionless. For the next two hours the closest watch was kept, but nothing was seen of the pursuing vessels.

"I fancy the frigate must have altered her course more to the south," the captain said, "thinking that, as the lugger was up north, we should be likely to haul our wind in that direction. We will wait another hour, and then get up sail again, and lay her head for Cape Ortegal."

When the morning broke, the brig was steering west. No sign of the lugger was visible but, from the tops, the upper sails of the frigate could be seen, close under the land, away to the southeast.

"Just as I thought," the captain said, rubbing his hands in high glee. "She hauled her wind, as soon as it was dark, and stood in for the coast, thinking we should do the same.

"We are well out of that scrape."

Two days later the brig dropped her anchor in the Tagus, where three English ships of war were lying. A part of the cargo had to be discharged, here; and the captain at once went ashore, to get a spar to replace the topmast carried away in the gale.

"We may fall in with another Frenchman, before we are through the Straits," he said, "and I am not going to put to sea again like a lame duck."

Bob went ashore with the captain, and was greatly amused at the scenes in the streets of Lisbon.

"You had better keep with me, as I shall be going on board, in an hour. Tomorrow you can come ashore and see the sights, and spend the day. I would let Joe come with you, but he will be too busy to be spared, so you will have to shift for yourself."

Before landing in the morning, the captain advised him not to go outside the town.

"You don't know the lingo, lad, and might get into trouble. You see, there are always sailors going ashore from our ships of war, and they get drunk and have sprees; and I don't fancy they are favourites with the lower class, here, although the shopkeepers, of course, are glad enough to have their money—but I don't think it would be safe for a lad like you, who can't speak a word of the language, to wander about outside the regular streets. There will be plenty for you to see, without going further."

As Bob was a good deal impressed with the narrow escape he had had from capture, he was by no means inclined to run any risk of getting into a scrape, and perhaps missing his passage out. He therefore strictly obeyed the captain's instructions; and when—just as he was going down to the landing stage, where the boat was to come ashore for him—he came upon a party of half drunken sailors, engaged in a vigorous fight with a number of Portuguese civil guards, he turned down a side street to avoid getting mixed up in the fray—repressing his strong impulse to join in by the side of his countrymen.

On his mentioning this to the captain, when he reached the brig, the latter said:

"It is lucky that you kept clear of the row. It is all nonsense, talking about countrymen. It wasn't an affair of nationality, at all. Nobody would think of interfering, if he saw a party of drunken sailors in an English port fighting with the constables. If he did interfere, it ought to be on the side of the law. Why, then, should anyone take the part of drunken sailors, in a foreign port, against the guardians of the peace? To do so is an act of the grossest folly.

"In the first place, the chances are in favour of getting your head laid open with a sword cut. These fellows know they don't stand a chance against Englishmen's fists, and they very soon whip out their swords. In the second place, you would have to pass the night in a crowded lockup, where you would be half smothered before morning. And lastly, if you were lucky enough not to get a week's confinement in jail, you would have a smart fine to pay.

"There is plenty of fighting to be done, in days like these; but people should see that they fight on the right side, and not be taking the part of every drunken scamp who gets into trouble, simply because he happens to be an Englishman.

"You showed plenty of pluck, lad, when the balls were flying about the other day; and when I see your uncle, I am sure he will be pleased when I tell him how well you behaved, under fire; but I am equally certain he would not have been, by any means, gratified at hearing that I had had to leave you behind at Lisbon, either with a broken head or in prison, through getting into a street row, in which you had no possible concern, between drunken sailors and the Portuguese civil guards."

Bob saw that the captain was perfectly right, and said so, frankly.

"I see I should have been a fool, indeed, if I had got into the row, captain; and I shall remember what you say, in future. Still, you know, I didn't get into it."

"No, I give you credit for that, lad; but you acknowledge your strong impulse to do so. Now, in future you had better have an impulse just the other way and, when you find yourself in the midst of a row in which you have no personal concern, let your first thought be how to get out of it, as quickly as you can. I got into more than one scrape, myself, when I was a young fellow, from the conduct of messmates who had got too much liquor in them; but it did them no good, and did me harm.

"So, take my advice: fight your own battles, but never interfere to fight other people's, unless you are absolutely convinced that they are in the right. If you are, stick by them as long as you have a leg to stand upon."

CHAPTER 6: THE ROCK FORTRESS.

On the third day after her arrival at Lisbon, the Antelope's anchor was hove up, and she dropped down the river. Half an hour later, a barque and another brig came out and joined her; the three captains having agreed, the day before, that they would sail in company, as they were all bound through the Straits. Captain Lockett had purchased two 14-pounder guns, at Lisbon; and the brig, therefore, now carried three guns on each side, besides her long 18 pounder. The barque carried fourteen guns, and the other brig ten; so that they felt confident of being able to beat off any French privateer they might meet, on the way.

One or two suspicious sails were sighted, as they ran down the coast; but none of these approached within gunshot, the three craft being, evidently, too strong to be meddled with. Rounding Cape St. Vincent at a short distance, they steered for the mouth of the Straits. After the bold cliffs of Portugal, Bob was disappointed with the aspect of the Spanish coast.

"Ah! It is all very well," the first mate replied, when he expressed his opinion. "Give me your low, sandy shores, and let those who like have what you call the fine, bold rocks.

"Mind, I don't mean coasts with sandbanks lying off them; but a coast with a shelving beach, and pretty deep water, right up to it. If you get cast on a coast like that of Portugal, it is certain death. Your ship will get smashed up like an eggshell, against those rocks you are talking of, and not a soul gets a chance of escape; while if you are blown on a flat coast, you may get carried within a ship's length of the beach before you strike, and it is hard if you can't get a line on shore; besides, it is ten to one the ship won't break up, for hours.

"No, you may get a landsman to admire your bold cliffs, but you won't get a sailor to agree with him."

"We seem to be going along fast, although there is not much wind."

"Yes, there is a strong current. You see, the rivers that fall into the Mediterranean ain't sufficient to make up for the loss by evaporation, and so there is always a current running in here. It is well enough for us, going east; but it is not so pleasant, when you want to come out. Then you have got to wait till you can get a breeze, from somewhere about east, to carry you out. I have been kept waiting, sometimes, for weeks; and it is no unusual thing to see two or three hundred ships anchored, waiting for the wind to change."

"Are there any pirates over on that side?" Bob asked, looking across at the African coast.

"Not about here. Ceuta lies over there. They are good friends with us, and Gibraltar gets most of its supplies from there. But once through the Straits we give that coast a wide berth; for the Algerine pirates are nearly as bad as ever, and would snap up any ship becalmed on their coast, or that had the bad luck to be blown ashore. I hope, some day, we shall send a fleet down, and blow the place about their ears. It makes one's blood boil, to think that there are hundreds and hundreds of Englishmen working, as slaves, among the Moors.

"There, do you see that projecting point with a fort on it, and a town lying behind? That is Tarifa. That used to be a great place, in the time when the Moors were masters in Spain."

"Yes," the captain, who had just joined them, said. "Tarif was a great Moorish commander, I have heard, and the place is named after him. Gibraltar is also named after a Moorish chief, called Tarik ibn Zeyad."

Bob looked surprised.

"I don't see that it is much like his name, captain."

"No, Master Repton, it doesn't sound much like it, now. The old name of the place was Gebel Tarik, which means Tank's Hill; and it is easy to see how Gebel Tarik got gradually changed into Gibraltar."

In another two hours the Straits were passed, and the Rock of Gibraltar appeared, rising across a bay to the left.

"There is your destination, lad," the captain said. "It is a strong-looking place, isn't it?"

"It is, indeed, Captain," Bob said, taking the captain's glass from the top of the skylight, and examining the Rock.

"You see," the captain went on, "the Rock is divided from the mainland by that low spit of sand. It is only a few hundred yards wide, and the sea goes round at the back of the Rock, and along the other side of that spit—though you can't see it from here—so anything coming to attack it must advance along the spit, under the fire of the guns.

"There, do you see that building, standing up on the hill above the town? That is the old Moorish castle, and there are plenty of modern batteries scattered about near it, though you can't see them. You see, the Rock rises sheer up from the spit; and it is only on this side, close to the water's edge, that the place can be entered.

"The weak side of the place is along this sea face. On the other side, the Rock rises right out of the water; but on this side, as you see, it slopes gradually down. There are batteries, all along by the water's edge; but if the place were attacked by a fleet strong enough to knock those batteries to pieces, and silence their guns, a landing could be effected.

"At the southern end you see the rocks are bolder, and there is no landing there. That is called Europa Point, and there is a battery there, though you can't make it out, from here."

The scene was a very pretty one, and Bob watched it with the greatest interest. A frigate, and two men-of-war brigs, were anchored at some little distance from the Rock; and around them were some thirty or forty merchantmen, waiting for a change in the wind to enable them to sail out through the Straits. White-sailed boats were gliding about among them.

At the head of the bay were villages nestled among trees, while the country behind was broken and hilly. On the opposite side of the bay was a town of considerable size, which the captain told him was Algeciras. It was, he said, a large town at the time of the Moors, very much larger and more important than Gibraltar. The ground rose gradually behind it, and was completely covered with foliage, orchards, and orange groves.

The captain said:

"You see that rock rising at the end of the bay from among the trees, lads. That is called 'the Queen of Spain's Chair.' It is said that, at a certain siege when the Moors were here, the then Queen of Spain took her seat on that rock, and declared she would never go away till Gibraltar was taken. She also took an oath never to change her linen, until it surrendered. I don't know how she managed about it, at last, for the place never did surrender. I suppose she got a dispensation, and was able to get into clean clothes again, some day.

"I have heard tell that the Spaniards have a colour that is called by her name—a sort of dirty yellow. It came out at that time. Of course, it would not have been etiquette for other ladies to wear white, when her majesty was obliged to wear dingy garments; so they all took to having their things dyed, so as to match hers; and the tint has borne her name, ever since."

"It is a very nasty idea," Bob said; "and I should think she took pretty good care, afterwards, not to take any oaths. It is hot enough, now; and I should think, in summer, it must be baking here."

"It is pretty hot, on the Rock, in summer. You know, they call the natives of the place Rock scorpions. Scorpions are supposed to like heat, though I don't know whether they do. You generally find them lying under pieces of loose rock; but whether they do it for heat, or to keep themselves cool, I can't say.

"Now, Mr. Probert, you may as well take some of the sail off her. We will anchor inside those craft, close to the New Mole. They may want to get her alongside, to unload the government stores we have brought out; and the nearer we are in, the less trouble it will be to warp her alongside, tomorrow morning. Of course, if the landing place is full, they will send lighters out to us."

The sails were gradually got off the brig, and she had but little way on when her anchor was dropped, a cable's length from the end of the Mole. Scarcely had she brought up when a boat shot out from the end of the pier.

"Hooray!" Bob shouted. "There are my sister, and Gerald."

"I thought as much," the captain said. "We hoisted our number, as soon as we came round the point; and the signal station, on the top of the Rock, would send down the news directly they made out our colours."

"Well, Bob, it gave me quite a turn," his sister said, after the first greetings were over, "when we saw how the sails were all patched, and everyone said that the ship must have been in action. I was very anxious, till I saw your head above the bulwarks."

"Yes, we have been in a storm, and a fight, and we came pretty near being taken. Did you get out all right?"

"Yes, we had a very quiet voyage."

The captain then came up, and was introduced.

"I have a box or two for you, madam, in addition to your brother's kit. Mr. Bale sent them down, a couple of days before we sailed.

"At one time, it didn't seem likely that you would ever see their contents, for we had a very close shave of it. In the first place, we had about as bad a gale as I have met with, in crossing the bay; and were blown into the bight, with the loss of our bowsprit, fore-topmast and four of our guns, that we had to throw overboard to lighten her.

"Then a French lugger, that would have been a good deal more than a match for her, at any time, came up. We might have out sailed her, if we could have carried all our canvas; but with only a jury topmast, she was too fast for us. As you may see by our sails, we had a smart fight but, by the greatest good fortune, we knocked the mainmast out of her.

"Then we were chased by a French frigate, with the lugger to help her. However, we gave them the slip in the night, and here we are.

"I am afraid you won't get your brother's boxes, till tomorrow. Nothing can go ashore till the port officer has been on board, and the usual formalities gone through. I don't know, yet, whether we shall discharge into lighters, or go alongside; but I will have your boxes all put together, in readiness for you, the first thing in the morning, whichever way it is."

"We shall be very glad if you will dine with us, tomorrow," Captain O'Halloran said. "We dine at one o'clock or, if that would be inconvenient for you, come to supper at seven."

"I would rather do that, if you will let me," Captain Lockett replied. "I shall be pretty busy tomorrow, and you military gentlemen do give us such a lot of trouble—in the way of papers, documents, and signatures—that I never like leaving the ship, till I get rid of the last bale and box with the government brand on it."

"Very well, then; we shall expect you to supper."

"I shall come down first thing in the morning, captain," Bob said, "so I need not say goodbye to anyone, now."

"You had better bring only what you may want with you for the night, Bob," his sister put in, as he was about to run below. "The cart will take everything else up, together, in the morning."

"Then I shall be ready in a minute," Bob said, running below; and it was not much more before he reappeared, with a small handbag.

"I shall see you again tomorrow, Mr. Probert. I shall be here about our luggage;" and he took his place in the boat beside the others, who had already descended the ladder.

"And you have had a pleasant voyage, Bob?" Captain O'Halloran asked.

"Very jolly, Gerald; first rate. Captain Lockett was as kind as could be; and the first mate was very good, too, though I did not think he would be, when I first saw him; and Joe Lockett, the second mate, is a capital fellow."

"But how was it that you did not take that French privateer, Bob? With a fellow like you on board—the capturer of a gang of burglars, and all that sort of thing—I should have thought that, instead of running away, you would have gone straight at her; that you would have thrown yourself on her deck at the head of the boarders, would have beaten the Frenchmen below, killed their captain in single combat, and hauled down their flag."

"There is no saying what I might have done," Bob laughed, "if it had come to boarding; but as it was, I did not feel the least wish for a closer acquaintance with the privateer. It was too close to be pleasant, as it was—a good deal too close. It is a pity you were not there, to have set me an example."

"I am going to do that now, Bob, and I hope you will profit by it.

"Now then, you jump out first, and give Carrie your hand. That is it."

And, having settled with the boatman, Captain O'Halloran followed the others' steps. It was a busy scene. Three ships were discharging their cargoes, and the wharf was covered with boxes and bales, piles of shot and shell, guns, and cases of ammunition. Fatigue parties of artillery and infantry men were piling the goods, or stowing them in handcarts. Goods were being slung down from the ships, and were swinging in the air, or run down to the cry of "Look below!"

"Mind how you go, Carrie," Captain O'Halloran said, "or you will be getting what brains you have knocked out."

"If that is all the danger, Gerald," she laughed, "you are safe, anyhow.

"Now, Bob, do look out!" she broke off as, while glancing round, he tripped over a hawser and fell. "Are you hurt?"

"Never mind him, Carrie—look out for yourself. A boy never gets hurt.

"Now, keep your eyes about you, Bob. You can come and look at all this, any day."

At last they got to the end of the Mole. Then they passed under an archway, with a massive gate, at which stood a sentry; then they found themselves in a sort of yard, surrounded by a high wall, on the top of which two cannon were pointed down upon them. Crossing the yard, they passed through another gateway. The ground here rose sharply, and a hundred yards further back stood another battery; completely commanding the Mole, and the defences through which they had passed.

The ground here was comparatively level, rising gradually to the foot of the rock, which then rose steeply up. A few houses were scattered about, surrounded by gardens. Hedges of cactus lined the road. Parties of soldiers and sailors, natives with carts, and women in picturesque costumes passed along. The vegetation on the low ground was abundant, and Bob looked with delight at the semi-tropical foliage.

Turning to the right they followed the road, passed under an archway in a strong wall, and were in the town, itself.

"We are not living in barracks," Carrie said. "Fortunately there was no room there, and we draw lodging allowance, and have taken the upper portion of a Spanish house. It is much more pleasant. Besides, if we had had to live in quarters, we should have had no room for you."

"The streets are steep," Bob said. "I can't make out how these little donkeys keep their feet on the slippery stones, with those heavy loads.

"Oh! I say, there are two rum-looking chaps. What are they—Moors?"

"Yes. You will see lots of them here, Bob. They come across from Ceuta, and there are some of them established here, as traders. What with the Moors, and Spaniards, and Jews, and the sailors from the shipping, you can hear pretty nearly every European language spoken, in one walk through the streets."

"Oh, I say, isn't this hot?" Bob exclaimed, mopping his face; "and isn't there a glare from all these white walls, and houses! How much higher is it?"

"About another hundred yards, Bob. There, you see, we are getting beyond the streets now."

They had now reached a flat shoulder; and on this the houses were somewhat scattered, standing in little inclosures, with hedges of cactus and geranium, and embowered in shrubs and flowers.

"This is our house," Carrie said, stopping before a rickety wooden gateway, hung upon two massive posts of masonry. "You see, we have got a flight of steps outside, and we are quite cut off from the people below."

They ascended the stairs. At the top there was a sort of wide porch, with a wooden roof; which was completely covered with creepers, growing from two wooden tubs. Four or five plants, covered with blossoms, stood on the low walls; and two or three chairs showed that the little terrace was used as an open-air sitting room.

"In another hour, when the sun gets lower, Bob, we can come and sit here. It is a lovely view, isn't it?"

"Beautiful!" Bob said, leaning on the wall.

Below them lay the sea front, with its gardens and bright foliage and pretty houses, with Europa Point and the sea stretching away beyond it. A little to the right were the African hills; and then, turning slightly round, the Spanish coast, with Algeciras nestled in foliage, and the bay with all its shipping. The head of the bay was hidden, for the ground behind was higher than that on which the house stood.

"Come in, Bob," Captain O'Halloran said. "You had better get out of the sun. Of course, it is nothing to what it will be; but it is hot now, and we are none of us acclimatized, yet."

The rooms were of a fair size, but the light-coloured walls gave them a bare appearance, to Bob's eyes. They were, however, comfortably furnished, matting being laid down instead of carpets.

"It is cooler, and cheaper," Carrie said, seeing Bob looking at them.

"This is your room, and this is the kitchen," and she opened the door into what seemed to Bob a tiny place, indeed.

Across one end was a mass of brickwork, rather higher than an ordinary table. Several holes, a few inches deep, were scattered about over this. In some of these small charcoal fires were burning, and pots were placed over them. There were small openings from the front, leading to these tiny fireplaces; and a Spanish girl was driving the air into one of these, with a fan, when they entered.

"This is my brother, Manola," Mrs. O'Halloran said.

The girl smiled and nodded, and then continued her work.

"She speaks English?" Bob said, as they went out.

"She belongs to the Rock, Bob. Almost all the natives here talk a little English."

"Where do these steps lead to? I thought we were at the top of the house."

"Come up and see," Carrie said, leading the way.

Following her, Bob found himself on a flat terrace, extending over the whole of the house. Several orange trees—in tubs—and many flowers, and small shrubs in pots stood upon it; and three or four light cane-work lounging chairs stood apart.

"Here is where we come when the sun is down, Bob. There is no finer view, we flatter ourselves, anywhere in Gib. Here we receive our guests, in the evening. We have only begun yet, but we mean to make a perfect garden of it."

"It is splendid!" Bob said, as he walked round by the low parapet, and gazed at the view in all directions; "and we can see what everyone else is doing on their roofs, and no one can look down on us—except from the rock over there, behind us, and there are no houses there."

"No, the batteries commanding the neutral ground lie over that crest, Bob. We are quite shut in, on two sides; but we make up for it by the extent of our view, on the others. We are very lucky in getting the place. A regiment went home in the transport that brought us out. Gerald knew some of the officers, and one of them had been staying here, and told Gerald of it; and we took it at once. The other officers' wives are all quite jealous of me and, though some of them have very nice quarters, it is admitted that, as far as the view goes, this is by far the best. Besides, it is a great thing being out of the town, and it does not take Gerald more than three or four minutes longer to get down to the barracks.

"But now, let us go downstairs. I am sure you must want something to eat, and we sha'n't have supper for another three hours."

"I dined at twelve," Bob said, "just before we rounded the point, and I could certainly hold on until supper time Still, I daresay I could eat something, now."

"Oh, it is only a snack! It is some stewed chicken and some fruit. That won't spoil your supper, Bob?"

"You will be glad to hear, Bob," Captain O'Halloran said, as the lad was eating his meal, "that I have secured the services of a Spanish professor for you. He is to begin next Monday."

Bob's face fell.

"I don't see that there was need for such a hurry," he said, ruefully, laying down his knife and fork. "I don't see there was need for any hurry, at all. Besides, of course, I want to see the place."

"You will be able to see a good deal of it, in four days, Bob; and your time won't be entirely occupied, when you do begin. The days are pretty long here, everyone gets up early.

"He is to come at seven o'clock in the morning. You have a cup of coffee, and some bread and butter and fruit, before that. He will go at nine, then we have breakfast. Then you will have your time to yourself, till dinner at half past two. The assistant surgeon of our regiment—he is a Dublin man—will come to you for Latin, and what I may call general knowledge, for two hours. That is all; except, I suppose, that you will work a bit by yourself, of an evening.

"That is not so bad, is it?"

"What sort of man is the assistant surgeon?" Bob replied, cautiously. "It all depends how much he is going to give me to do, in the evening."

"I don't think he will give you anything to do, in the evening, Bob. Of course, the Spanish is the principal thing, and I told him that you will have to work at that."

"I don't think you need be afraid, Bob," his sister laughed. "You won't find Dr. Burke a very severe kind of instructor. Nobody but Gerald would ever have thought of choosing him."

"Sure, and didn't you agree with me, Carrie," her husband said, in an aggrieved voice, "that as we were not going to make the boy a parson, and as it was too much to expect him to learn Spanish, and a score of other things, at once; that we ought to get someone who would make his lessons pleasant for him, and not be worrying his soul out of his body with all sorts of useless balderdash?"

"Yes, we agreed that, Gerald; but there was a limit, and when you told me you had spoken to Teddy Burke about it, and arranged the matter with him, I thought you had gone beyond that limit, altogether."

"He is just the man for Bob, Carrie. That boy will find it mighty dull here, after a bit, and will want someone to cheer him up. I promised the old gentleman I would find him someone who could push Bob on in his humanities; and Teddy Burke has taken his degree at Dublin, and I will venture to say will get him on faster than a stiff starched man will do. Bob would always be playing tricks, with a fellow like that, and be getting into rows with him. There will be no playing tricks with Teddy Burke, for he is up to the whole thing, himself."

"I should think he is, Gerald. Well, we will see how it works, anyhow.

"Go on with your fowl, Bob. You will see all about it, in good time."

Bob felt satisfied that the teacher his brother-in-law had chosen for him was not a very formidable personage; and his curiosity as to what he would be like was satisfied, that evening. After he had finished his meal, he went for a stroll with Captain O'Halloran through the town, and round the batteries at that end of the Rock, returning to supper. After the meal was over, they went up to the terrace above. There was not a breath of wind, and a lamp on a table there burned without a flicker.

They had scarcely taken their seats when Manola announced Dr. Burke, and a minute later an officer in uniform made his appearance on the terrace. He wore a pair of blue spectacles, and advanced in a stiff and formal manner.

"I wish you a good evening, Mrs. O'Halloran. So this is our young friend!

"You are well, I hope, Master Repton; and are none the worse for the inconveniences I hear you have suffered on your voyage?"

Carrie, to Bob's surprise, burst into a fit of laughter.

"What is the matter, Mrs. O'Halloran?" Dr. Burke asked, looking at her with an air of mild amazement.

"I am laughing at you, Teddy Burke. How can you be so ridiculous?"

The doctor removed his spectacles.

"Now, Mrs. O'Halloran," he said, with a strong brogue. "Do you call that acting fairly by me? Didn't you talk to me yourself, half an hour yesterday, and impress upon me that I ought to be grave and steady, now that I was going to enter upon the duties of a pedagogue; and ain't I trying my best to act up to your instructions, and there you burst out laughing in my face, and spoil it all, entirely?

"Gerald said to me, 'Now mind, Teddy, it is a responsible affair. The boy is up to all sorts of divarsions, and divil a bit will he attend to ye, if he finds that you are as bad, if not worse, than he is himself.'

"'But,' said I, 'it's Latin and such like that you are wanting me to teach him; and not manners at all, at all.'

"And he says, 'It is all one. It is quiet and well behaved that you have got to be, Teddy. The missis has been houlding out about the iniquity of taking a spalpeen, like yourself; and it is for you to show her that she is mistaken, altogether.'

"So I said, 'You trust me, Gerald, I will be as grave as a doctor of divinity.'

"So I got out these glasses—which I bought because they told me that they would be wanted here, to keep out the glare of the sun—and I came here, and spoke as proper as might be; and then, Mrs. O'Halloran, you burst out laughing in my face, and destroy the whole effect of these spectacles, and all.

"Well, we must make the best of a bad business; and we will try, for a bit, anyhow. If he won't mind me, Gerald must go to the chaplain, as he intended to; and I pity the boy, then. I would rather be had up before the colonel, any day, than have any matter in dispute with him."

"You are too bad, Teddy Burke," Mrs. O'Halloran said, still laughing. "It was all very well for you to try and look sensible, but to put on that face was too absurd. You know you could not have kept it up for five minutes.

"No, I don't think it will do," and she looked serious now. "I always thought that it was out of the question, but this bad beginning settles it."

But Bob, who had been immensely amused, now broke in.

"Why not, Carrie? I am sure I should work better, for Dr. Burke, than I should for anyone who was very strict and stiff. One is always wanting to do something, with a man like that: to play tricks with his wig or pigtail, or something of that sort. You might let us try, anyhow; and if Dr. Burke finds that I am not attentive, and don't mind him, then you can put me with somebody else."

"Sure, we shall get on first rate, Mrs. O'Halloran. Gerald says the boy is a sensible boy, and that he has been working very well under an old uncle of yours. He knows for himself that it's no use his having a master, if he isn't going to try his best to get on. When I was at school, I used to get larrupped every day; and used to think, to myself, what a grand thing it would be to have a master just like what Dr. Burke, M.D., Dublin, is now; and I expect it is just about the same, with him. We sha'n't work any the worse because, maybe, we will joke over it, sometimes."

"Very well, then, we will try, Teddy; though I know the whole regiment will think Gerald and I have gone mad, when they hear about it. But I shall keep my eye upon you both."

"The more you keep your eye upon me, the better I shall be plazed, Mrs. O'Halloran; saving your husband's presence," the doctor said, insinuatingly.

"Do sit down and be reasonable, Teddy. There are cigars in that box on the table."

"The tobacco here almost reconciles one to living outside Ireland," Dr. Burke said, as he lit a cigar, and seated himself in one of the comfortable chairs. "Just about a quarter the price they are at home, and brandy at one shilling per bottle. It is lucky for the country that we don't get them at that price, in Ireland; for it is mighty few boys they would get to enlist, if they could get tobacco and spirits at such prices, at home."

"I have been telling Gerald that it will be much better for him to drink claret, out here," Mrs. O'Halloran said.

"And you are not far wrong," the doctor agreed; "but the native wines here are good enough for me, and you can get them at sixpence a quart. I was telling them, at mess yesterday, that we must not write home and tell them about it; or faith, there would be such an emigration that the Rock wouldn't hold the people—not if you were to build houses all over it. Sixpence a quart, and good sound tipple!

"Sure, and it was a mighty mistake of Providence that Ireland was not dropped down into the sea, off the coast of Spain. What a country it would have been!"

"I don't know, Teddy," Captain O'Halloran said. "As the people don't kill themselves with overwork, now, I doubt if they would ever work at all, if they had the excuse of a hot climate for doing nothing."

"There would not have been so much need, Gerald. They needn't have bothered about the thatch, when it only rains once in six months, or so; while as for clothes, it is little enough they would have needed. And the bogs would all have dried up, and they would have had crops without more trouble than just scratching the ground, and sowing in the seed; and they would have grown oranges, instead of praties. Oh, it would have been a great country, entirely!"

The doctor's three listeners all went off into a burst of laughter, at the seriousness with which he spoke.

"But you would have had trouble with your pigs," Mrs. O'Halloran said. "The Spanish pigs are wild, fierce-looking beasts, and would never be content to share the cottages."

"Ah! But we would have had Irish pigs just the same as now. Well, what do you think—" and he broke off suddenly, sitting upright, and dropping the brogue altogether—"they were saying, at mess, that the natives declare there are lots of Spanish troops moving down in this direction; and that a number of ships are expected, with stores, at Algeciras."

"Well, what of that?" Mrs. O'Halloran asked. "We are at peace with Spain. What does it matter where they move their troops, or land stores?"

"That is just the thing. We are at peace with them, sure enough; but that is no reason why we should be always at peace. You know how they hate seeing our flag flying over the Rock; and they may think that, now we have got our hands full with France, and the American colonists, it will be the right time for them to join in the scrimmage, and see if they can't get the Rock back again."

"But they would never go to war, without any ground of complaint!"

"I don't know, Mrs. O'Halloran. When one wants to pick a quarrel with a man, it is always a mighty easy thing to do so. You can tread on his toe, and ask him what he put it there for; or sit down on his hat, and swear that he put it on the chair on purpose; or tell him that you do not like the colour of his hair, or that his nose isn't the shape that pleases you. It is the easiest thing in the world to find something to quarrel about, when you have a mind for it."

"Are you quite serious, Teddy?"

"Never more serious in my life.

"Have you heard about it, Gerald?"

"I heard them saying something about it, when we were waiting for the colonel on parade, this morning; but I did not think much of it."

"Well, of course, it mayn't be true, Gerald; but the colonel and major both seemed to think that there was something in it. It seems, from what they said, that the governor has had letters that seemed to confirm the news that several regiments are on the march south; and that stores are being collected at Cadiz, and some of the other seaports. There is nothing, as far as we know, specially said about Gibraltar; but what else can they be getting ready for, unless it is to cross the Straits and attack the Moors—and they are at peace with them, at present, just as they are with us? I mean to think that they are coming here, till we are downright sure they are not. The news is so good, I mean to believe that it is true, as long as I can."

"For shame, Teddy!" Mrs. O'Halloran said. "You can't be so wicked as to hope that they are going to attack us?"

"And it is exactly that point of wickedness I have arrived at," the doctor said, again dropping into the brogue. "In the first place, sha'n't we need something, to kape us from dying entirely of nothing to do at all, at all, in this wearisome old place? We are fresh to it, and we are not tired, yet, of the oranges and the wine and the cigars, and the quare people you see in the streets; but the regiments that have been here some time are just sick of their lives. Then, in the second place, how am I going to learn my profession, if we are going to stop here, quiet and peaceful, for years? Didn't I come into the army to study gunshot wounds and, barring duels, divil a wound have I seen since I joined. It's getting rusty I am, entirely; and there is the elegant case of instruments my aunt gave me, that have never been opened. By the same token, I will have them out and oil them, in the morning."

"Don't talk in that way, Teddy. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. It seems to me that you are making a great to-do about nothing. Some soldiers have been marched somewhere in Spain, and all this talk is made up about it. They must know, very well, they can't take the Rock. They tried it once, and I should have thought they would not be in a hurry to try it again. I shall believe in it when I see it.

"You need not look so delighted, Bob. If there should be any trouble—and it seems nonsense even to think about such a thing—but if there should be any, we should put you on board the very first vessel sailing for England, and get you off our minds."

Bob laughed.

"I should go down and ship as a powder monkey, on one of the ships of war; or enlist as a drummer, in one of the regiments; and then I should be beyond your authority, altogether."

"I begin to think you are beyond my authority already, Bob.

"Gerald, I am afraid we did a very foolish thing in agreeing to have this boy out here."

"Well, we have got him on our hands now, Carrie; and it is early, yet, for you to find out your mistake.

"Well, if there should be a siege—"

"You know there is no chance of it, Gerald."

"Well, I only say if, and we are cut off from all the world, he will be a companion to you, and keep you alive, while I am in the batteries."

"I won't hear such nonsense talked any more, Gerald; and if Teddy Burke is going to bring us every bit of absurd gossip that may be picked up from the peasants, he can stay away, altogether."

"Except when he comes to instruct his pupil, Mrs. O'Halloran."

"Oh, that is not likely to last long, Dr. Burke!"

"That is to be seen, Mrs. O'Halloran. It is a nice example you are setting him of want of respect for his instructor. I warn you that, before another six months have passed, you will have to confess that it has been just the very best arrangement that could have been made; and will thank your stars that Dr. Edward Burke, M.D., of Dublin, happened to be here, ready to your hand."

CHAPTER 7: TROUBLES AHEAD.

When Dr. Burke had left, Bob broke into an Indian war dance, expressive of the deepest satisfaction; and Captain O'Halloran burst into a shout of laughter at the contrast between the boy's vehement delight, and the dissatisfaction expressed in his wife's face.

"I am not at all pleased, Gerald, not at all; and I don't see that it is any laughing matter. I never heard a more ridiculous thing. Uncle intrusted Bob to our care, believing that we should do what was best for him; and here you go and engage the most feather-headed Irishman in the garrison—and that is saying a good deal, Gerald—to look after him."

It was so seldom that Carrie took matters seriously that her husband ceased laughing, at once.

"Well, Carrie, there is no occasion to put yourself out about it. The experiment can be tried for a fortnight; and if, at the end of that time, you are not satisfied, we will get someone else. But I am sure it will work well."

"So am I, Carrie," Bob put in. "I believe Dr. Burke and I will get on splendidly. You see, I have been with two people, both of whom looked as grave as judges, and one of them as cross as a bear; and yet they were both first-rate fellows. It seems to me that Dr. Burke is just the other way. He turns everything into fun; but I expect he will be just as sharp, when he is at lessons, as anyone else. At any rate, you may be sure that I will do my best with him; so as not to get put under some stiff old fellow, instead of him."

"Well, we shall see, Bob. I hope that it will turn out well, I am sure."

"Of course it will turn out well, Carrie. Why, didn't your uncle at first think I was the most harum-scarum fellow he ever saw; and now he sees that I am a downright model husband, with only one fault, and that is that I let you have your own way, altogether."

"It looks like it, on the present occasion, Gerald," his wife laughed. "I will give it, as you say, a fortnight's trial. I only hope that you have made a better choice for Bob's Spanish master."

"I hope so, my dear—that is, if it is possible. The professor, as I call him, has been teaching his language to officers, here, for the last thirty years. He is a queer, wizened-up little old chap, and has got out of the way of bowing and scraping that the senors generally indulge in; but he seems a cheery little old soul, and he has got to understand English ways and, at any rate, there is no fear of his leading Bob into mischief. The Spaniards don't understand that; and if you were to ruffle his dignity, he would throw up teaching him at once; and I have not heard of another man on the Rock who would be likely to suit."

On the following Monday, Bob began work with the professor; who called himself, on his card, Don Diaz Martos. He spoke English very fairly and, after the first half hour, Bob found that the lessons would be much more pleasant than he expected. The professor began by giving him a long sentence to learn by heart, thoroughly; and when Bob had done this, parsed each word with him, so that he perfectly understood its meaning. Then he made the lad say it after him a score of times, correcting his accent and inflection; and when he was satisfied with this, began to construct fresh sentences out of the original one, again making Bob repeat them, and form fresh ones himself.

Thus, by the time the first lesson was finished the lad, to his surprise, found himself able, without difficulty, to frame sentences from the words he had learned. Then the professor wrote down thirty nouns and verbs in common use.

"You will learn them this evening," he said, "and in the morning we shall be able to make up a number of sentences out of them and, by the end of a week, you will see we shall begin to talk to each other. After that, it will be easy. Thirty fresh words, every day, will be ample. In a month you will know seven or eight hundred; and seven or eight hundred are enough for a man to talk with, on common occasions."

"He is first rate," Bob reported to his sister, as they sat down to dinner, at one o'clock. "You would hardly believe that I can say a dozen little sentences, already; and can understand him, when he says them. He says, in a week, we shall be able to get to talk together.

"I wonder they don't teach Latin like that. Why, I shall know in two or three months as much Spanish—and more, ever so much more—than I do Latin, after grinding away at it for the last seven or eight years."

"Well, that is satisfactory. I only hope the other will turn out as well."

As Mrs. O'Halloran sat that evening, with her work in her hand, on the terrace; with her husband, smoking a cigar, beside her. She paused, several times, as she heard a burst of laughter.

"That doesn't sound like master and pupil," she said, sharply, after an unusually loud laugh from below.

"More the pity, Carrie. Why on earth shouldn't a master be capable of a joke? Do you think one does not learn all the faster, when the lecture is pleasant? I know I would, myself. I never could see why a man should look as if he was going to an execution, when he wants to instil knowledge."

"But it is not usual, Gerald," Carrie remonstrated, no other argument occurring to her.

"But that doesn't prove that it's wrong. Why a boy should be driven worse than a donkey, and thrashed until his life is a burden to him, and he hates his lessons and hates his master, beats me entirely. Some day they will go more sensibly to work.

"You see, in the old times, Carrie, men used to beat their wives; and you don't think the women were any the better for it, do you?"

"Of course they weren't," Carrie said, indignantly.

"But it was usual, you know, Carrie, just as you say that it is usual for masters to beat boys—as if they would do nothing, without being thrashed. I can't see any difference between the two things."

"I can see a great deal of difference, sir!"

"Well, what is the difference, Carrie?"

But Carrie disdained to give any answer. Still, as she sat sewing and thinking the matter over, she acknowledged to herself that she really could not see any good and efficient reason why boys should be beaten, any more than women.

"But women don't do bad things, like boys," she said, breaking silence at last.

"Don't they, Carrie? I am not so sure of that. I have heard of women who are always nagging their husbands, and giving them no peace of their lives. I have heard of women who think of nothing but dress, and who go about and leave their homes and children to shift for themselves. I have heard of women who spend all their time spreading scandal. I have heard of—"

"There, that is enough," Carrie broke in hastily. "But you don't mean to say that they would be any the better for beating, Gerald?"

"I don't know, Carrie; I should think perhaps they might be, sometimes. At any rate, I think that they deserve a beating quite as much as a boy does, for neglecting to learn a lesson or for playing some prank—which comes just as naturally, to him, as mischief does to a kitten. For anything really bad, I would beat a boy as long as I could stand over him. For lying, or thieving, or any mean, dirty trick I would have no mercy on him. But that is a very different thing to keeping the cane always going, at school, as they do now.

"But here comes Bob. Well, Bob, is the doctor gone? Didn't you ask him to come up, and have a cigar?"

"Yes; but he said he had got two or three cases at the hospital he must see, and would wait until this evening."

"How have you got on, Bob?"

"Splendidly. I wonder why they don't teach at school, like that."

"It didn't sound much like teaching," Carrie said, severely.

"I don't suppose it did, Carrie; but it was teaching, for all that. Why, I have learned as much, this evening, as I did in a dozen lessons, in school. He explains everything so that you seem to understand it, at once; and he puts things, sometimes, in such a droll way, and brings in such funny comparisons, that you can't help laughing. But you understand it, for all that, and are not likely to forget it.

"Don't you be afraid, Carrie. If Dr. Burke teaches me, for the two years that I am going to be here, I shall know more than I should have done if I had stopped at Tulloch's till I was an old man. I used to learn lessons, there, and get through them, somehow, but I don't think I ever understood why things were so; while Dr. Burke explains everything so that you seem to understand all about it, at once. And he is pretty sharp, too. He takes a tremendous lot of pains, himself; but I can see he will expect me to take a tremendous lot of pains, too."

At the end of a fortnight, Carrie made no allusion to the subject of a change of masters. The laughing downstairs still scandalized her, a little; but she saw that Bob really enjoyed his lessons and, although she herself could not test what progress he was making, his assurances on that head satisfied her.

The Brilliant had sailed on a cruise, the morning after Bob's arrival; but as soon as he heard that she had again dropped anchor in the bay, he took a boat and went out to her; and returned on shore with Jim Sankey, who had obtained leave for the afternoon. The two spent hours in rambling about the Rock, and talking of old times at Tulloch's. Both agreed that the most fortunate thing that ever happened had been the burglary at Admiral Langton's; which had been the means of Jim's getting into the navy, and Bob's coming out to Gibraltar, to his sister.

Jim had lots to tell of his shipmates, and his life on board the Brilliant. He was disposed to pity Bob spending half his day at lessons; and was astonished to find that his friend really enjoyed it, and still more that he should already have begun to pick up a little Spanish.

"You can't help it, with Don Diaz," Bob said. "He makes you go over a sentence, fifty times, until you say it in exactly the same voice he does—I mean the same accent. He says it slow, at first, so that I can understand him; and then faster and faster, till he speaks in his regular voice. Then I have to make up another sentence, in answer. It is good fun, I can tell you; and yet one feels that one is getting on very fast. I thought it would take years before I should be able to get on anyhow in Spanish; but he says if I keep on sticking to it, I shall be able to speak pretty nearly like a native, in six months' time. I quite astonish Manola—that is our servant—by firing off sentences in Spanish at her. My sister Carrie says she shall take to learning with the Don, too."

"Have you had any fun since you landed, Bob?"

"No; not regular fun, you know. It has been very jolly. I go down with Gerald—Carrie's husband, you know—to the barracks, and I know most of the officers of his regiment now, and I walk about a bit by myself; but I have not gone beyond the Rock, yet."

"You must get a long day's leave, Bob; and we will go across the neutral ground, into Spain, together."

"Gerald said that, as I was working so steadily, I might have a holiday, sometimes, if I did not ask for it too often. I have been three weeks at it, now. I am sure I can go for a day, when I like, so it will depend on you."

"I sha'n't be able to come ashore for another four or five days, after having got away this afternoon. Let us see, this is Wednesday, I will try to get leave for Monday."

"Have you heard, Jim, there is a talk about Spanish troops moving down here, and that they think Spain is going to join France and try to take this place?"

"No, I haven't heard a word about it," Jim said, opening his eyes. "You don't really mean it?"

"Yes, that is what the officers say. Of course, they don't know for certain; but there is no doubt the country people have got the idea into their heads, and the natives on the Rock certainly believe it."

"Hooray! That would be fun," Jim said. "We have all been grumbling, on board the frigate, at being stuck down here without any chance of picking up prizes; or of falling in with a Frenchman, except we go on a cruise. Why, you have seen twice as much fun as we have, though you only came out in a trader. Except that we chased a craft that we took for a French privateer, we haven't seen an enemy since we came out from England; and we didn't see much of her, for she sailed right away from us. While you have had no end of fighting, and a very narrow escape of being taken to a French prison."

"Too narrow to be pleasant, Jim. I don't think there would be much fun to be got out of a French prison."

"I don't know, Bob. I suppose it would be dull, if you were alone; but if you and I were together, I feel sure we should have some fun, and should make our escape, somehow."

"Well, we might try," Bob said, doubtfully. "But you see, not many fellows do make their escape; and as sailors are up to climbing ropes, and getting over walls, and all that sort of thing, I should think they would do it, if it could be managed anyhow."

Upon the following day—when Bob was in the anteroom of the mess with Captain O'Halloran, looking at some papers that had been brought by a ship that had come in that morning—the colonel entered, accompanied by Captain Langton. The officers all stood up, and the colonel introduced them to Captain Langton—who was, he told them, going to dine at the mess that evening. After he had done this, Captain Langton's eye fell upon Bob; who smiled, and made a bow.

"I ought to know you," the captain said. "I have certainly seen your face somewhere."

"It was at Admiral Langton's, sir. My name is Bob Repton."

"Of course it is," the officer said, shaking him cordially by the hand. "But what on earth are you doing here? I thought you had settled down somewhere in the city; with an uncle, wasn't it?"

"Yes, sir; but I have come out here to learn Spanish."

"Have you seen your friend Sankey?"

"Yes, sir. I went on board the frigate to see him, yesterday afternoon; and he got leave to come ashore with me, for two or three hours."

"He ought to have let me know that you were here," the captain said. "Who are you staying with, lad?"

"With Captain O'Halloran, sir, my brother-in-law," Bob said, indicating Gerald, who had already been introduced to Captain Langton.

"I daresay you are surprised at my knowing this young gentleman," he said, turning to Colonel Cochrane, "but he did my father, the admiral, a great service. He and three other lads, under his leadership, captured four of the most notorious burglars in London, when they were engaged in robbing my father's house. It was a most gallant affair, I can assure you; and the four burglars swung for it, a couple of months later. I have one of the lads as a midshipman, on board my ship; and I offered a berth to Repton but, very wisely, he decided to remain on shore, where his prospects were good."

"Why, O'Halloran, you never told me anything about this," the colonel said.

"No, sir. Bob asked me not to say anything about it. I think he is rather shy of having it talked about; and it is the only thing of which he is shy as far as I have discovered."

"Well, we must hear the story," the colonel said. "I hope you will dine at mess, this evening, and bring him with you. He shall tell us the story over our wine. I am curious to know how four boys can have made such a capture."

After mess that evening Bob told the story, as modestly as he could.

"There, colonel," Captain Langton said, when he had finished. "You see that, if these stories I hear are true, and the Spaniards are going to make a dash for Gibraltar, you have got a valuable addition to your garrison."

"Yes, indeed," the colonel laughed. "We will make a volunteer of him. He has had some little experience of standing fire, for O'Halloran told me that the brig he came out in had fought a sharp action with a privateer of superior force; and indeed, when she came in here, her sails were riddled with shot holes."

"Better and better," Captain Langton laughed.

"Well, Repton, remember whenever you are disposed for a cruise, I shall be glad to take you as passenger. Sankey will make you at home in the midshipmen's berth. If the Spaniards declare war with us, we shall have stirring times at sea, as well as on shore and, though you won't get any share in any prize money we may win, while you are on board, you will have part of the honour; and you see, making captures is quite in your line."

The next day, Captain O'Halloran and Bob dined on board the Brilliant. Captain Langton introduced the lad to his officers, telling them that he wished him to be considered as being free on board the ship, whether he himself happened to be on board or not, when he came off.

"But you must keep an eye on him, Mr. Hardy, while he is on board," he said to the first lieutenant.

"Mr. Sankey," and he nodded at Jim, who was among those invited, "is rather a pickle, but from what I hear Repton is worse. So you will have to keep a sharp eye upon them, when they are together; and if they are up to mischief, do not hesitate to masthead both of them. A passenger on board one of His Majesty's ships is amenable to discipline, like anyone else."

"I will see to it, sir," the lieutenant said, laughing. "Sankey knows the way up, already."

"Yes. I think I observed him taking a view of the shore from that elevation, this morning."

Jim coloured hotly.

"Yes, sir," the lieutenant said. "The doctor made a complaint that his leeches had got out of their bottle, and were all over the ship; and I fancy one of them got into his bed, somehow. He had given Mr. Sankey a dose of physic in the morning; and remembered afterwards that, while he was making up the medicine, Sankey had been doing something in the corner where his bottles were. When I questioned Sankey about it, he admitted that he had observed the leeches, but declined to criminate himself farther. So I sent him aloft for an hour or two, to meditate upon the enormity of wasting His Majesty's medical stores."

"I hope, Captain O'Halloran," the captain said, "that you have less trouble with your brother-in-law than we have with his friend."

"Bob hasn't had much chance, yet," Captain O'Halloran said, laughing. "He is new to the place, as yet; and besides, he is really working hard, and hasn't much time for mischief; but I don't flatter myself that it is going to last."

"Well, Mr. Sankey, you may as well take your friend down, and introduce him formally to your messmates," the captain said; and Jim, who had been feeling extremely uncomfortable since the talk had turned on the subject of mastheading, rose and made his escape with Bob, leaving the elders to their wine.

The proposed excursion to the Spanish lines did not come off, as the Brilliant put to sea again, on the day fixed for it. She was away a fortnight and, on her return, the captain issued orders that none of the junior officers, when allowed leave, were to go beyond the lines; for the rumours of approaching troubles had become stronger and, as the peasantry were assuming a somewhat hostile attitude, any act of imprudence might result in trouble. Jim often had leave to come ashore in the afternoon and, as this was the time that Bob had to himself, they wandered together all over the Rock, climbed up the flagstaff, and made themselves acquainted with all the paths and precipices.

Their favourite place was the back of the Rock; where the cliff, in many places, fell sheer away for hundreds of feet down into the sea. They had many discussions as to the possibility of climbing up on that side, though both agreed that it would be impossible to climb down.

"I should like to try, awfully," Bob said, one day early in June, as they were leaning on a low wall looking down to the sea.

"But it would never do to risk getting into a scrape here. It wouldn't, indeed, Bob. They don't understand jokes at Gib. One would be had up before the big wigs, and court-martialled, and goodness knows what. Of course, it is jolly being ashore; but one never gets rid of the idea that one is a sort of prisoner. There are the regulations about what time you may come off, and what time the gate is closed and, if you are a minute late, there you are until next morning. Whichever way one turns there are sentries; and you can't pass one way, and you can't go back another way, and there are some of the batteries you can't go into, without a special order. It never would do to try any nonsense, here.

"Look at that sentry up there. I expect he has got his eye on us, now; and if he saw us trying to get down, he would take us for deserters and fire. There wouldn't be any fear of his hitting us; but the nearest guard would turn out, and we should be arrested and reported, and all sorts of things. It wouldn't matter so much for you, but I should get my leave stopped altogether, and should get into the captain's black books.

"No, no. I don't mind running a little risk of breaking my neck, but not here on the Rock. I would rather get into ten scrapes, on board the frigate, than one here."

"Yes, I suppose it can't be done," Bob agreed; "but I should have liked to swing myself down to one of those ledges. There would be such a scolding and shrieking among the birds."

"Yes, that would be fun; but as it might bring on the same sort of row among the authorities, I would rather leave it alone.

"I expect we shall soon get leave to go across the lines again. There doesn't seem to be any chance of a row with the dons; I expect it was all moonshine, from the first. Why, they say Spain is trying to patch up the quarrel between us and France. She would not be doing that, if she had any idea of going to war with us, herself."

"I don't know, Jim. Gerald and Dr. Burke were talking it over last night, and Gerald said just what you do; and then Dr. Burke said:

"'You are wrong, entirely, Gerald. That is just the dangerous part of the affair. Why should Spain want to put a stop to the war between us and the frog eaters? Sure, wouldn't she look on with the greatest pleasure in life, while we cut each other's throats and blew up each other's ships, and put all the trade of the Mediterranean into her hands? Why, it is the very thing that suits her best.'

"'Then what is she after putting herself forward for, Teddy?' Gerald said.

"'Because she wants to have a finger in the pie, Gerald. It wouldn't be dacent for her to say to England:

"'"It is in a hole you are, at present, wid your hands full; and so I am going to take the opportunity of pitching into you."

"'So she begins by stipping forward as the dear friend of both parties; and she says:

"'"What are you breaking each other's heads for, boys? Make up your quarrel, and shake hands."

"'Then she sets to and proposes terms—which she knows mighty well we shall never agree to, for the letters we had, the other day said, that it was reported that the proposals of Spain were altogether unacceptable—and then, when we refuse, she turns round and says:

"'"You have put yourself in the wrong, entirely. I gave you a chance of putting yourself in the right, and it is a grave insult to me for you to refuse to accept my proposals. So there is nothing for me to do, now, but just to join with France, and give you the bating you desarve."'

"That is Teddy Burke's idea, Jim; and though he is so full of fun, he is awfully clever, and has got no end of sense; and I'd take his opinion about anything. You see how he has got me on, in these four months, in Latin and things. Why, I have learnt more, with him, than I did all the time I was at Tulloch's. He says most likely the negotiations will be finished, one way or the other, by the middle of this month; and he offered to bet Gerald a gallon of whisky that there would be a declaration of war, by Spain, before the end of the month."

"Did he?" Jim said, in great delight. "Well, I do hope he is right. We are all getting precious tired, I can assure you, of broiling down there in the harbour. The decks are hot enough to cook a steak upon. When we started, today, we didn't see a creature in the streets. Everyone had gone off to bed, for two or three hours; and the shops were all closed, as if it had been two o'clock at night, instead of two o'clock in the day. Even the dogs were all asleep, in the shade. I think we shall have to give up our walks, till August is over. It is getting too hot for anything, in the afternoon."

"Well, it is hot," Bob agreed. "Carrie said I was mad, coming out in it today; and should get sunstroke, and all sort of things; and Gerald said at dinner that, if it were not against the regulations, he would like to shave his head, instead of plastering it all over with powder."

"I call it disgusting," Jim said, heartily. "That is the one thing I envy you in. I shouldn't like to be grinding away at books, as you do; and you don't have half the fun I do, on shore here without any fellows to have larks with; but not having to powder your hair almost makes up for it. I don't mind it, in winter, because it makes a sort of thatch for the head; but it is awful, now. I feel just as if I had got a pudding crust all over my head."

"Well, that is appropriate, Jim," laughed Bob; and then Jim chased him all along the path, till they got within sight of a sentry in a battery; and then his dignity as midshipman compelled them to desist, and the pair walked gravely down into the town.

That evening after lessons were over Dr. Burke, as usual, went up on to the terrace to smoke a cigar with Captain O'Halloran.

"It is a pity altogether, Mrs. O'Halloran," he said, as he stood by her side, looking over the moonlit bay, with the dark hulls of the ships and the faint lights across at Algeciras, "that we can't do away with the day, and have nothing but night of it, for four or five months in the year. I used to think it must be mighty unpleasant for the Esquimaux; but faith, I envy them now. Fancy five or six months without catching a glimpse of that burning old sun!"

"I don't suppose they think so," Mrs. O'Halloran laughed, "but it would be pleasant here. The heat has been dreadful, all day; and it is really only after sunset that one begins to enjoy life."

"You may well say that, Mrs. O'Halloran. Faith, I wish they would let me take off my coat, and do my work in my shirtsleeves down at the hospital. Sure, it is a strange idea these military men have got in their heads, that a man isn't fit for work unless he is buttoned so tightly up to the chin that he is red in the face. If nature had meant it, we should have been born in a suit of scale armour, like a crocodile.

"Well, there is one consolation—if there is a siege, I expect there will be an end of hair powder and cravats. It's the gineral rule, on a campaign; and it is worth standing to be shot at, to have a little comfort in one's life."

"Do you think that there is any chance at all of the Spaniards taking the place, if they do besiege us?" Bob asked, as Dr. Burke took his seat.

"None of taking the place by force, Bob. It has been besieged, over and over again; and it is pretty nearly always by hunger that it has fallen. That is where the pinch will come, if they besiege us in earnest: it's living on mice and grass you are like to be, before it is over."

"But the fleet will bring in provisions, surely, Dr. Burke?"

"The fleet will have all it can do to keep the sea, against the navies of France and Spain. They will do what they can, you may be sure; but the enemy well know that it is only by starving us out that they can hope to take the place, and I expect they will put such a fleet here that it will be mighty difficult for even a boat to find its way in between them."

"Do you know about the other sieges?" Mrs. O'Halloran asked. "Of course, I know something about the last siege; but I know nothing about the history of the Rock before that, and of course Gerald doesn't know."

"And why should I, Carrie? You don't suppose that when I was at school, at Athlone, they taught me the history of every bit of rock sticking up on the face of the globe? I had enough to do to learn about the old Romans—bad cess to them, and all their bothering doings!"

"I can tell you about it, Mrs. O'Halloran," Teddy Burke said. "Bob's professor, who comes to have a talk with me for half an hour every day, has been telling me all about it; and if Gerald will move himself, and mix me a glass of grog to moisten my throat, I will give you the whole story of it.

"You know, no doubt, that it was called Mount Calpe, by Gerald's friends the Romans; who called the hill opposite there Mount Abyla, and the two together the Pillars of Hercules. But beyond giving it a name, they don't seem to have concerned themselves with it; nor do the Phoenicians or Carthaginians, though all of them had cities out in the low country.

"It was when the Saracens began to play their games over here that we first hear of it. Roderic, you know, was king of the Goths, and seems to have been a thundering old tyrant; and one of his nobles, Julian—who had been badly treated by him—went across with his family into Africa, and put up Mousa, the Saracen governor of the province across there, to invade Spain. They first of all made a little expedition—that was in 711—with one hundred horse, and four hundred foot. They landed over there at Algeciras and, after doing some plundering and burning, sailed back again, with the news that the country could be conquered. So next year twelve thousand men, under a chief named Tarik, crossed and landed on the flat between the Rock and Spain. He left a party here to build the castle; and then marched away, defeated Roderic and his army at Xeres, and soon conquered the whole of Spain, except the mountains of the north.

"We don't hear much more of Gibraltar for another six hundred years. Algeciras had become a fortress of great strength and magnificence, and Gibraltar was a mere sort of outlying post. Ferdinand the Fourth of Spain besieged Algeciras for years, and could not take it; but a part of his army attacked Gibraltar, and captured it. The African Moors came over to help their friends, and Ferdinand had to fall back; but the Spaniards still held Gibraltar—a chap named Vasco Paez de Meira being in command.

"In 1333 Abomelique, son of the Emperor of Fez, came across with an army and besieged Gibraltar. Vasco held out for five months, and was then starved into surrender, just as Alonzo the Eleventh was approaching to his assistance. He arrived before the town, five days after it surrendered, and attacked the castle; but the Moors encamped on the neutral ground in his rear, and cut him off from his supplies; and he was obliged at last to negotiate, and was permitted to retire. He was not long away. Next time he attacked Algeciras; which, after a long siege, he took in 1343.

"In 1349 there were several wars in Africa, and he took advantage of this to besiege Gibraltar. He was some months over the business, and the garrison were nearly starved out; when pestilence broke out in the Spanish camp, by which the king and many of his soldiers died, and the rest retired.

"It was not until sixty years afterwards, in 1410, that there were fresh troubles; and then they were what might be called family squabbles. The Africans of Fez had held the place, till then; but the Moorish king of Grenada suddenly advanced upon it, and took it. A short time afterwards, the inhabitants rose against the Spanish Moors, and turned them out, and the Emperor of Morocco sent over an army to help them; but the Moors of Grenada besieged the place, and took it by famine.

"In 1435 the Christians had another slap at it; but Henry de Guzman, who attacked by sea, was defeated and killed. In 1462 the greater part of the garrison of Gibraltar was withdrawn to take part in some civil shindy, that was going on at Grenada; and in their absence the place was taken by John de Guzman, duke of Medina-Sidonia, and son of the Henry that was killed. In 1540 Gibraltar was surprised and pillaged by one of Barossa's captains; but as he was leaving some Christian galleys met him, and the corsairs were all killed or taken.

"This was really the only affair worth speaking of between 1462, when it fell into the hands of the Spaniards, and 1704, when it was captured by us. Sir George Rooke, who had gone out with a force to attack Cadiz—finding that there was not much chance of success in that direction—resolved, with Prince George of Hesse and Darmstadt—who commanded the troops on board the fleet—to make an attack on Gibraltar.

"On the 21st of July, 1704, the English and Dutch landed on the neutral ground and, at daybreak on the 23rd, the fleet opened fire. The Spaniards were driven from their guns on the Molehead Battery. The boats landed, and seized the battery, and held it in spite of the Spaniards springing a mine, which killed two lieutenants and about forty men. The Marquis de Salines, the governor, was then summoned, and capitulated. So you see, we made only a day's work of taking a place which the Spaniards thought that they had made impregnable. The professor made a strong point of it that the garrison consisted only of a hundred and fifty men; which certainly accounts for our success, for it is no use having guns and walls, if you haven't got soldiers to man them.

"The Prince of Hesse was left as governor; and it was not long before his mettle was tried for, in October, the Spanish army, with six battalions of Frenchmen, opened trenches against the town. Admiral Sir John Leake threw in reinforcements, and six months' provisions. At the end of the month, a forlorn hope of five hundred Spanish volunteers managed to climb up the Rock, by ropes and ladders, and surprised a battery; but were so furiously attacked that they were all killed, or taken prisoners. A heavy cannonade was kept up for another week, when a large number of transports with reinforcements and supplies arrived and, the garrison being now considered strong enough to resist any attack, the fleet sailed away.

"The siege went on till the middle of March, when Sir John Leake again arrived, drove away the French fleet, and captured or burnt five of them; and the siege was then discontinued, having cost the enemy ten thousand men. So, you see, there was some pretty hard fighting over it.

"The place was threatened in 1720 and, in the beginning of 1727, twenty thousand Spaniards again sat down before it. The fortifications had been made a good deal stronger, after the first siege; and the garrison was commanded by Lieutenant Governor Clayton. The siege lasted till May, when news arrived that the preliminaries of a general peace had been signed. There was a lot of firing; but the Spaniards must have shot mighty badly, for we had only three hundred killed and wounded. You would think that that was enough; but when I tell you that the cannon were so old and rotten that seventy cannon, and thirty mortars, burst during the siege, it seems to me that every one of those three hundred must have been damaged by our own cannon, and that the Spaniards did not succeed in hitting a single man.

"That is mighty encouraging for you, Mrs. O'Halloran; for I don't think that our cannon will burst this time and, if the Spaniards do not shoot better than they did before, it is little work, enough, that is likely to fall to the share of the surgeons."

"Thank you," Mrs. O'Halloran said. "You have told that very nicely, Teddy Burke. I did not know anything about it, before; and I had some idea that it was when the English were besieged here that the Queen of Spain sat on that rock which is called after her; but I see now that it was Ferdinand's Isabella, and that it was when the Moors were besieged here, hundreds of years before.

"Well, I am glad I know something about it. It is stupid to be in a place, and know nothing of its history. You are rising in my estimation fast, Dr. Burke."

"Mistress O'Halloran," the doctor said, rising and making a deep bow, "you overwhelm me, entirely; and now I must say goodnight, for I must look in at the hospital, before I turn in to my quarters."

CHAPTER 8: THE SIEGE BEGINS.

On the 19th of June General Eliott, accompanied by several of his officers, paid a visit to the Spanish lines to congratulate General Mendoza, who commanded there, on the promotion that he had just received. The visit lasted but a short time, and it was remarked that the Spanish officer seemed ill at ease. Scarcely had the party returned to Gibraltar than a Swedish frigate entered the bay, having on board Mr. Logie, H.M. Consul in Barbary, who had come across in her from Tangier. He reported that a Swedish brig had put in there. She reported that she had fallen in with the French fleet, of twenty-eight sail of the line, off Cape Finisterre; and that they were waiting there to be joined by the Spanish fleet, from Cadiz.

The news caused great excitement; but it was scarcely believed, for the Spanish general had given the most amicable assurances to the governor. On the 21st, however, the Spaniards, at their lines across the neutral ground, refused to permit the mail to pass; and a formal notification was sent in that intercourse between Gibraltar and Spain would no longer be permitted. This put an end to all doubt, and discussion. War must have been declared between Spain and England, or such a step would never have been taken.

In fact, although the garrison did not learn it until some time later, the Spanish ambassador in London had presented what was virtually a declaration of war, on the 16th. A messenger had been sent off on the same day from Madrid, ordering the cessation of intercourse with Gibraltar and, had he not been detained by accident on the road, he might have arrived during General Eliott's visit to the Spanish lines; a fact of which Mendoza had been doubtless forewarned, and which would account for his embarrassment at the governor's call.

Captain O'Halloran brought the news home, when he returned from parade.

"Get ready your sandbags, Carrie; examine your stock of provisions; prepare a store of lint, and plaster."

"What on earth are you talking about, Gerald?"

"It is war, Carrie. The Dons have refused to accept our mail, and have cut off all intercourse with the mainland."

Carrie turned a little pale. She had never really thought that the talk meant anything, or that the Spaniards could be really intending to declare war, without having any ground for quarrel with England.

"And does it really mean war, Gerald?"

"There is no doubt about it. The Spaniards are going to fight and, as their army can't swim across the Bay of Biscay, I take it it is here they mean to attack us. Faith, we are going to have some divarshun, at last."

"Divarshun! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Gerald."

"Well, my dear, what have I come into the army for? To march about for four hours a day in a stiff stock, and powder and pigtail and a cocked hat, and a red coat? Not a bit of it. Didn't I enter the army to fight? And here have I been, without a chance of smelling powder, for the last ten years. It is the best news I have had since you told me that you were ready and willing to become Mrs. O'Halloran."

"And to think that we have got Bob out here with us!" his wife said, without taking any notice of the last words. "What will uncle say?"

"Faith, and it makes mighty little difference what he says, Carrie, seeing that he is altogether beyond shouting distance.

"As for Bob, he will be just delighted. Why, he has been working till his brain must all be in a muddle; and it is the best thing in the world for him, or he would be mixing up the Spaniards and the Romans, and the x's and y's and the tangents, and all the other things into a regular jumble—and it is a nice business that would have been. It is the best thing in the world for him, always supposing that he don't get his growth stopped, for want of victuals."

"You don't mean, really and seriously, Gerald, that we are likely to be short of food?"

"And that is exactly what I do mean. You may be sure that the Dons know, mighty well, that they have no chance of taking the place on the land side. They might just as well lay out their trenches against the moon. It is just starvation that they are going to try; and when they get the eighteen French sail of the line that Mr. Logie brought news of, and a score or so of Spanish men-of-war in the bay, you will see that it is likely you won't get your mutton and your butter and vegetables very regularly across from Tangier."

"Well, it is very serious, Gerald."

"Very serious, Carrie."

"I don't see anything to laugh at at all, Gerald."

"I didn't know that I was laughing."

"You were looking as if you wanted to laugh, which is just as bad. I suppose there is nothing to be done, Gerald?"

"Well, yes, I should go down to the town, and lay in a store of things that will keep. You see, if nothing comes of it we should not be losers. The regiment is likely to be here three or four years, so we should lose nothing by laying in a big stock of wine, and so on; while, if there is a siege, you will see everything will go up to ten times its ordinary price. That room through ours is not used for anything, and we might turn that into a storeroom.

"I don't mean that there is any hurry about it, today; but we ought certainly to lay in as large a store as we can, of things that will keep. Some things we may get cheaper, in a short time, than we can now. A lot of the Jew and native traders will be leaving, if they see there is really going to be a siege; for you see, the town is quite open to the guns of batteries, on the other side of the neutral ground.

"It was a mighty piece of luck we got this house. You see that rising ground behind will shelter us from shot. They may blaze away as much as they like, as far as we are concerned.

"Ah! There is Bob, coming out of his room with the professor."

"Well, take him out and tell him, Gerald. I want to sit down, and think. My head feels quite in a whirl."

Bob was, of course, greatly surprised at the news; and the professor, himself, was a good deal excited.

"We have been living here for three hundred years," he said, "my fathers and grandfathers. When the English came and took this place—seventy-five years ago—my grandfather became a British subject, like all who remained here. My father, who was then but a boy, has told me that he remembers the great siege, and how the cannons roared night and day. It was in the year when I was born that the Spaniards attacked the Rock again; and a shell exploded in the house, and nearly killed us all. I was born a British subject, and shall do my duty in what way I can, if the place is attacked. They call us Rock scorpions. Well, they shall see we can live under fire, and will do our best to sting, if they put their finger on us. Ha, ha!"

"The little man is quite excited," Captain O'Halloran said, as the professor turned away, and marched off at a brisk pace towards his home. "It is rather hard on these Rock people. Of course, as he says, they are British subjects, and were born so. Still, you see, in race and language they are still Spaniards; and their sympathies must be divided, at any rate at present. When the shot and shell come whistling into the town, and knocking their houses about their ears, they will become a good deal more decided in their opinions than they can be, now.

"Come along, Bob, and let us get all the news. I came off as soon as I heard that our communication with Spain was cut off, and therefore it was certain war was declared. There will be lots of orders out, soon. It is a busy time we shall have of it, for the next month or two."

There were many officers in the anteroom when they entered.

"Any fresh news?" Captain O'Halloran asked.

"Lots of it, O'Halloran. All the Irish officers of the garrison are to be formed into an outlying force, to occupy the neutral ground. It is thought their appearance will be sufficient to terrify the Spaniards."

"Get out with you, Grant! If they were to take us at all, it would be because they knew that we were the boys to do the fighting."

"And the drinking, O'Halloran," another young officer put in.

"And the talking," said another.

"Now, drop it, boys, and be serious. What is the news, really?"

"There is a council of war going on, at the governor's, O'Halloran. Boyd, of course, and De la Motte, Colonel Green, the admiral, Mr. Logie, and two or three others. They say the governor has been gradually getting extra stores across from Tangier, ever since there was first a talk about this business; and of course that is the most important question, at present. I hear that Green and the Engineers have been marking out places for new batteries, for the last month; and I suppose fatigue work is going to be the order of the day. It is too bad of them choosing this time of the year to begin, for it will be awfully hot work.

"Everyone is wondering what will become of the officers who are living out with their families, at San Roque and the other villages across the Spanish lines; and besides, there are a lot of officers away on leave, in the interior. Of course they won't take them prisoners. That would be a dirty trick. But it is likely enough they may ship them straight back to England, instead of letting them return here.

"Well, it is lucky that we have got a pretty strong garrison. We have just been adding up the last field state. These are the figures—officers, noncommissioned officers, and men—artillery, 485; 12th Regiment, 599; 39th, 586; 56th, 587; 58th, 605; 72nd, 1046; the Hanoverian Brigade—of Hardenberg's, Reden's, and De la Motte's regiments—1352; and 122 Engineers under Colonel Green: which makes up, altogether, 5382 officers and men.

"That is strong enough for anything, but it would have been better if there had been five hundred more artillerymen; but I suppose they will be able to lend us some sailors, to help work the heavy guns.

"They will turn you into a powder monkey, Repton."

"I don't care what they turn me into," Bob said, "so long as I can do something."

"I think it is likely," Captain O'Halloran said gravely, "that all women and children will be turned out of the place, before fighting begins; except, of course, wives and children of officers."

There was a general laugh, at Bob.

"Well," he said quietly, "it will lessen the ranks of the subalterns, for there must be a considerable number who are not many months older than I am. I am just sixteen, and I know there are some not older than that."

This was a fact, for commissions were—in those days—given in the army to mere lads, and the ensigns were often no older than midshipmen.

Late in the afternoon, a procession of carts was seen crossing the neutral ground, from the Spanish lines; and it was soon seen that these were the English officers and merchants from San Roque, and the other villages. They had, that morning, received peremptory orders to leave before sunset. Some were fortunate enough to be able to hire carts, to bring in their effects; but several were compelled, from want of carriage, to leave everything behind them.

The guards had all been reinforced, at the northern batteries; pickets had been stationed across the neutral ground; the guard, at the work known as the Devil's Tower, were warned to be specially on the alert; and the artillery in the battery, on the rock above it, were to hold themselves in readiness to open fire upon the enemy, should they be perceived advancing towards it.

It was considered improbable, in the extreme, that the enemy would attack until a great force had been collected; but it was possible that a body of troops might have been collected secretly, somewhere in the neighbourhood, and that an attempt would be made to capture the place by surprise, before the garrison might be supposed to be taking precautions against attack.

The next morning orders were issued, and large working parties were told off to go on with the work of strengthening the fortifications; and notice was issued that all empty hogsheads and casks in the town would be bought, by the military authorities. These were to be filled with earth, and to take the places of fascines, for which there were no materials available on the Rock. Parties of men rolled or carried these up to the heights. Other parties collected earth, and piled it to be carried up in sacks on the back of mules—there being no earth, on the rocks where the batteries would be established—a fact which added very largely to the difficulties of the Engineers.

On the 24th the Childers, sloop of war, brought in two prizes from the west; one of which, an American, she had captured in the midst of the Spanish fleet. Some of the Spanish men-of-war had made threatening demonstrations, as if to prevent the sloop from interfering with her; but they had not fired a gun, and it was supposed that they had not received orders to commence hostilities. Two English frigates had been watching the fleet; and it was supposed to be on its way to join the French fleet, off Cape Finisterre.

The Spaniards were seen, now, to be at work dragging down guns from San Roque to arm their two forts—Saint Philip and Saint Barbara—which stood at the extremities of their lines: Saint Philip on the bay, and Saint Barbara upon the seashore, on the eastern side of the neutral side. In time of peace, only a few guns were mounted in these batteries.

Admiral Duff moved the men-of-war under his command, consisting of the Panther—of sixty guns—three frigates, and a sloop, from their usual anchorage off the Water Port—where they were exposed to the fire of the enemy's forts—to the New Mole, more to the southward.

Bob would have liked to be out all day, watching the busy preparations, and listening to the talk of the natives; who were greatly alarmed at the prospect of the siege, knowing that the guns from the Spanish forts, and especially from Fort Saint Philip, could throw their shot and shell into the town. But Captain O'Halloran agreed with his wife that it was much better he should continue his lessons with Don Diaz, of a morning; for that it would be absurd for him to be standing about in the sun, the whole day. The evening lessons were, however, discontinued from the first; as Dr. Burke had his hands full in superintending the preparations making, at the hospitals, for the reception of large numbers of wounded.

Bob did not so much mind this, for he had ceased to regard the time spent with the professor as lessons. After he had once mastered the conjugation of the verbs, and had learned an extensive vocabulary by heart, books had been laid aside, altogether; and the three hours with the professor had, for the last two months, been spent simply in conversation. They were no longer indoors, but sat in the garden on the shady side of the house; or, when the sky happened to be clouded and the morning was cool, walked together out to Europa Point; and would sit down there, looking over the sea, but always talking. Sometimes it was history—Roman, English, or Spanish—sometimes Bob's schooldays and life in London, sometimes general subjects. It mattered little what they talked about, so that the conversation was kept up.

Sometimes, when it was found that topics failed them, the professor would give Bob a Spanish book to glance through, and its subject would serve as a theme for talk on, the following day; and as it was five months since the lad had landed, he was now able to speak in Spanish almost as fluently as in English. As he had learnt almost entirely by ear, and any word mispronounced had had to be gone over, again and again, until Don Diaz was perfectly satisfied, his accent was excellent; and the professor had told him, a few days before the breaking out of the war, that in another month or two he should discontinue his lessons.

"It would be well for you to have one or two mornings a week, to keep up your accent. You can find plenty of practice talking to the people. I see you are good at making friends, and are ready to talk to labourers at work, to boys, to the market women, and to anyone you come across; but their accent is bad, and it would be well for you to keep on with me. But you speak, at present, much better Spanish than the people here and, if you were dressed up as a young Spaniard, you might go about Spain without anyone suspecting you to be English."

Indeed, by the professor's method of teaching—assisted by a natural aptitude, and three hours' daily conversation, for five months—Bob had made surprising progress, especially as he had supplemented his lesson by continually talking Spanish with Manola, with the Spanish woman and children living below them, and with everyone he could get to talk to.

He had seen little of Jim, since the trouble began; as leave was, for the most part, stopped—the ships of war being in readiness to proceed to sea, at a moment's notice, to engage an enemy, or to protect merchantmen coming in from the attacks of the Spanish ships and gunboats, across at Algeciras.

Bob generally got up at five o'clock, now, and went out for two or three hours before breakfast; for the heat had become too great for exercise, during the day. He greatly missed the market, for it had given him much amusement to watch the groups of peasant women—with their baskets of eggs, fowls, vegetables, oranges, and fruit of various kinds—bargaining with the townspeople, and joking and laughing with the soldiers. The streets were now almost deserted, and many of the little traders in vegetables and fruit had closed their shops. The fishermen, however, still carried on their work, and obtained a ready sale for their catch. There had, indeed, been a much greater demand than usual for fish, owing to the falling off in the fruit and vegetable supplies.

The cessation of trade was already beginning to tell upon the poorer part of the population; but employment was found for all willing to labour either at collecting earth for the batteries, or out on the neutral ground—where three hundred of them were employed by the Engineers in levelling sand hummocks, and other inequalities in the ground, that might afford any shelter to an enemy creeping up to assault the gates by the waterside.

Dr. Burke came in with Captain O'Halloran to dinner, ten days after the gates had been closed.

"You are quite a stranger, Teddy," Mrs. O'Halloran said.

"I am that," he replied; "but you are going to be bothered with me again, now; we have got everything in apple pie order, and are ready to take half the garrison under our charge. There has been lots to do. All the medical stores have been overhauled, and lists made out and sent home of everything that can be required—medicines and comforts, and lint and bandages, and splints and wooden legs; and goodness knows what, besides. We hope they will be out in the first convoy.

"There is a privateer going to sail, tomorrow; so if you want to send letters home, or to order anything to be sent out to you, you had better take the opportunity. Have you got everything you want, for the next two or three years?"

"Two or three years!" Carrie repeated, in tones of alarm. "You mean two or three months."

"Indeed, and I don't. If the French and the Dons have made up their mind to take this place, and once set to fairly to do it, they are bound to stick to it for a bit. I should say you ought to provide for three years."

"But that is downright nonsense, Teddy. Why, in three months there ought to be a fleet here that would drive all the French and Spaniards away."

"Well, if you say there ought to be, there ought," the doctor said, "but where is it to come from? I was talking to some of the naval men, yesterday; and they all say it will be a long business, if the French and Spanish are in earnest. The French navy is as strong as ours, and the Spaniards have got nearly as many ships as the French. We have got to protect our coasts and our trade, to convoy the East Indian fleets, and to be doing something all over the world; and they doubt whether it would be possible to get together a fleet that could hope to defeat the French and Spanish navies, combined.

"Well, have you been laying in stores, Mrs. O'Halloran?"

"Yes, we have bought two sacks of flour, and fifty pounds of sugar; ten pounds of tea, and a good many other things."

"If you will take my advice," the doctor said earnestly, "you will lay in five times as much. Say ten sacks of flour, two hundred-weight of sugar, and everything else in proportion. Those sort of things haven't got up in price, yet; but you will see, everything will rise as soon as the blockade begins in earnest."

"No, the prices of those things have not gone up much; but fruit is three times the price it was, a fortnight ago, and chickens and eggs are double, and vegetables are hardly to be bought."

"That is the worst of it," the doctor said. "It's the vegetables that I am thinking of."

"Well, we can do without vegetables," Mrs. O'Halloran laughed, "as long as we have plenty of bread."

"It is just that you can't do. You see, we shall be cut off from Tangier—maybe tomorrow, maybe a fortnight hence—but we shall be cut off. A ship may run in sometimes, at night, but you can't count upon that; and it is salt meat that we are going to live upon and, if you live on salt meat, you have got to have vegetables or fruit to keep you in health.

"Now, I tell you what I should do, Gerald, and I am not joking with you. In the first place, I would make an arrangement with the people downstairs, and I would hire their garden from them. I don't suppose they would want much for it, for they make no use of it, except to grow a few flowers. Then I would go down the town, and I would buy up all the chickens I could get. There are plenty of them to be picked up, if you look about for them, for most of the people who have got a bit of ground keep a few fowls. Get a hundred of them, if you can, and turn them into the garden. Buy up twenty sacks, if you like, of damaged biscuits. You can get them for an old song. The commissariat have been clearing out their stores, and there are a lot of damaged biscuits to be sold, by auction, tomorrow. You would get twenty sacks for a few shillings.

"That way you will get a good supply of eggs, if the siege lasts ever so long; and you can fence off a bit of the garden, and raise fowls there. That will give you a supply of fresh meat, and any eggs and poultry you can't eat yourselves you can sell for big prices. You could get a chicken, three weeks ago, at threepence. Never mind if you have to pay a shilling for them, now; they will be worth five shillings, before long.

"If you can rent another bit of garden, anywhere near, I would take it. If not, I would hire three or four men to collect earth, and bring it up here. This is a good, big place; I suppose it is thirty feet by sixty. Well, I would just leave a path from the door, there, up to this end; and a spare place, here, for your chairs; and I would cover the rest of it with earth, nine inches or a foot deep; and I would plant vegetables."

"Do you mane we are to grow cabbages here, Teddy?" Captain O'Halloran asked, with a burst of laughter.

"No, I wouldn't grow cabbages. I would just grow mustard, and cress, and radishes. If you eat plenty of them, they will keep off scurvy; and all you don't want for yourselves, I will guarantee you will be able to sell at any price you like to ask for them and, if nobody else will buy them, the hospitals will. They would be the saving of many a man's life."

"But they would want watering," Captain O'Halloran said, more seriously, for he saw how much the doctor was in earnest.

"They will that. You will have no difficulty in hiring a man to bring up water, and to tend to them and to look after the fowls. Men will be glad enough to work for next to nothing.

"I tell you, Gerald, if I wasn't in the service, I should hire every bit of land I could lay hands on, and employ as many labourers as it required; and I should look to be a rich man, before the end of the siege. I was speaking to the chief surgeon today about it; and he is going to put the convalescents to work, on a bit of spare ground there is at the back of the hospital, and to plant vegetables.

"I was asking down the town yesterday and I found that, at Blount's store, you can get as much vegetable seed as you like. You lay in a stock, today, of mustard and cress and radish. Don't be afraid of the expense—get twenty pounds of each of them. You will be always able to sell what you don't want, at ten times the price you give for it now. If you can get a piece more garden ground, take it at any price and raise other vegetables; but keep the top of the house here for what I tell you.

"Well, I said nine inches deep of earth; that is more than necessary. Four and a half will do for the radishes, and two is enough for the mustard and cress. That will grow on a blanket—it is really only water that it wants."

"What do you think, Carrie?" Captain O'Halloran asked.

"Well, Gerald, if you really believe the siege is going to last like that, I should think that it would be really worth while to do what Teddy Burke advises. Of course, you will be too busy to look after things, but Bob might do so."

"Of course I would," Bob broke in. "It will give me something to do."

"Well, we will set about it at once, then. I will speak to the man downstairs. You know he has got two or three horses and traps down in the town, and lets them to people driving out across the lines; but of course he has nothing to do, now, and I should think that he would be glad enough to arrange to look after the fowls and the things up here.

"The garden is a good size. I don't think anything could get out through that prickly pear hedge but, anyhow, any gaps there are can be stopped up with stakes. I think it is a really good idea and, if I can get a couple of hundred fowls, I will. I should think there was plenty of room for them, in the garden. I will set up as a poultry merchant."

"You might do worse, Gerald. I will bet you a gallon of whisky they will be selling at ten shillings a couple, before this business is over; and there is no reason in the world why you should not turn an honest penny—it will be a novelty to you."

"Well, I will go down the town, at once," Gerald said, "and get the seeds and the extra stores you advise, Teddy; and tomorrow I will go to the commissariat sale, and buy a ton or two of those damaged biscuits. We will take another room from them, downstairs, as a storeroom for that and the eggs; and I will get a carpenter to come up and put a fence, and make some runs and a bit of a shelter for the sitting hens, and the chickens. Bob shall do the purchasing.

"You had better get a boy with a big basket to go with you, Bob; and go round to the cottages, to buy up fowls. Mind, don't let them sell you nothing but cocks—one to every seven or eight hens is quite enough; and don't let them foist off old hens on you—the younger they are, the better. I should say that, at first, you had better take Manola with you, if Carrie can spare her; then you won't get taken in, and you will soon learn to tell the difference between an old hen and a young chicken."

"When you are buying the seed, O'Halloran," said Dr. Burke, "you would do well to get a few cucumbers, and melons, and pumpkins. They will grow on the roof, splendidly. And you can plant them near the parapet, where they will grow down over the sides, so they won't take up much room; and you can pick them with a ladder. The pumpkin is a good vegetable, and the fowls will thank you for a bit to pick, when you can spare one. They will all want manure, but you get plenty of that, from the fowl yard."

"Why, Teddy, there seems no end to your knowledge," Mrs. O'Halloran said. "First of all, you turn out to be a schoolmaster; and now you are a gardener, and poultry raiser. And to think I never gave you credit for knowing anything, except medicine."

"You haven't got to the bottom of it yet, Mrs. O'Halloran. My head is just stored with knowledge, only it isn't always that I have a chance of making it useful. I would be just the fellow to be cast on a desert island. There is no saying what I wouldn't do towards making myself comfortable there.

"But I do know about scurvy, for I made a voyage in a whaler, before I got His Majesty's commission to kill and slay in the army; and I know how necessary vegetables are. I only wish we had known what the Spaniards were up to, a month since. We would have got a cargo of oranges and lemons. They would have been worth their weight in silver."

"But they wouldn't have kept, Teddy."

"No, not for long; but we would have squeezed them, and put sugar into the juice, and bottled it off. If the general had consulted me, that is what he would have been after, instead of seeing about salt meat and biscuits. We shall get plenty of them, from ships that run in—I have no fear of that—but it is the acids will be wanting."

As soon as dinner was over, Captain O'Halloran went downstairs; and had no difficulty in arranging, with the man below, for the entire use of his garden. An inspection was made of the hedge, and the man agreed to close up all gaps that fowls could possibly creep through. He was also quite willing to let off a room for storage, and his wife undertook to superintend the management of the young broods, and sitting hens. Having arranged this, Captain O'Halloran went down into the town to make his purchases.

A quarter of an hour later Bob started with Manola, carrying a large basket, and both were much amused at their errand. Going among the cottages scattered over the hill above the town, they had no difficulty in obtaining chickens and fowls—the former at about five pence apiece, the latter at seven pence—such prices being more than double the usual rates. Manola's basket was soon full and, while she was taking her purchases back to the house, Bob hired two boys with baskets and, before evening, nearly a hundred fowls were running in the garden.

The next day Bob was considered sufficiently experienced to undertake the business alone and, in two more days, the entire number of two hundred had been made up. Three of the natives had been engaged in collecting baskets of earth among the rocks and, in a week, the terrace was converted into a garden ready for the seeds. As yet vegetables, although very dear, had not risen to famine prices; for although the town had depended chiefly upon the produce of the mainland, many of the natives had grown small patches of vegetables in their gardens for their own use, and these they now disposed of at prices that were highly satisfactory to themselves.

O'Halloran's farm—as they called it, as soon as they heard, from him, what he was doing—became quite a joke in the regiment; but several of the other married officers, who had similar facilities for keeping fowls, adopted the idea to some extent, and started with a score or so of fowls.

"I wonder you didn't think of pigs, O'Halloran," one of the captains said, laughing, as they were talking over the farm in the mess anteroom; "pigs and potatoes. The idea of you and Burke, both from the sod, starting a farm; and not thinking, first, of the two chief national products."

"There is not room for praties, Sinclair; and as for pigs, there are many reasons against it. In the first place, I doubt whether I could buy any. In the second, there isn't room for them. In the third, what should I give them to keep them alive? In the fourth, pigs are illigant bastes but, in a hot country like this, I should not care for a stye of them under my drawing room window. In the fifth—"

"That will do, that will do, O'Halloran. We give way. We allow that you could not keep pigs, but it is a pity."

"It is that, Sinclair. There is nothing would please me better than to see a score of nice little pigs, with a nate stye, and a magazine of food big enough to keep them, say, for a year."

"Three months, O'Halloran, would be ample."

"Well, we shall see, Sinclair. Teddy Burke says three years, but I do hope it is not going to be as long as that."

"Begorra!" another Irish officer, Captain O'Moore, exclaimed; "if it is three years we are going to be here, we had best be killed and buried at once. I have been all the morning in the Queen's Battery, where my company has been slaving like haythens, with the sun coming down as if it would fry your brain in your skull pan; and if that is to go on, day after day, for three years, I should be dead in a month!"

"That is nothing, O'Moore. If the siege goes on, they say the officers will have to help at the work."

"I shall protest against it. There is not a word in the articles of war about officers working. I am willing enough to be shot by the Spaniards, but not to be killed by inches. No, sir, there is not an O'Moore ever did a stroke of work, since the flood; and I am not going to demean myself by beginning.

"What are you laughing at, young Repton?"

"I was only wondering, Captain O'Moore, how your ancestors got through the flood. Unless, indeed, Noah was an O'Moore."

"There is reason to believe that he was," the captain said, seriously. "It must have been that, if he hadn't a boat of his own, or found a mountain that the water didn't cover. I have got the tree of the family at home; and an old gentleman who was learned in these things came to the house, when I was a boy; and I remember right well that he said to my father, after reckoning them up, that the first of the house must have had a place there in Ireland well-nigh a thousand years before Adam.

"I don't think my father quite liked it but, for the life of me, I couldn't see why. It was just what I should expect from the O'Moores. Didn't they give kings to Ireland, for generations? And what should they want to be doing, out among those rivers in the East, when there was Ireland, ready to receive them?"

Captain O'Moore spoke so seriously that Bob did not venture to laugh, but listened with an air of gravity equal to that of the officer.

"You will kill me altogether, Phelim!" Captain O'Halloran exclaimed; amid a great shout of laughter, in which all the others joined.

The O'Moore looked round, speechless with indignation.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I shall expect satisfaction for this insult. The word of an O'Moore has never been doubted.

"Captain O'Halloran, my friend will call upon you, first."

"He may call as often as he likes, O'Moore, and I shall be happy to converse with any friend of yours but, at present, that is all the satisfaction you will get out of me. Duelling is strictly forbidden on the Rock, and there is no getting across the Spanish lines to fight—unless, indeed, you can persuade the governor to send out a flag of truce with us. So we must let the matter rest, till the siege is over; and then, if both of us are alive, and you have the same mind, we will talk about it."

"I think, O'Moore," Dr. Burke, who had entered the room two or three minutes before, said persuasively, "you will see that you are the last man who ought to maintain that the first of your race lived here, as far back as Adam. You see, we are all direct descendants of Adam—I mean, all the rest of us."

"No doubt you are," Captain O'Moore said, stiffly.

"And one has just as much right as another to claim that he is the heir, in a direct line."

"I suppose so, Burke," the officer said, "though, for the life of me, I can't see what you are driving at."

"What I mean is this. Suppose Adam and the O'Moore started at the same time, one in Ireland and the other in Eden; and they had an equal number of children, as was likely enough. Half the people in the world would be descendants of Adam, and the other half of the O'Moore and, you see, instead of your being the O'Moore—the genuine descendant, in the direct line, from the first of the family—half the world would have an equal claim to the title."

Captain O'Moore reflected for a minute or two.

"You are right, Dr. Burke," he said. "I never saw it in that light. It is clear enough that you are right, and that the less we say about the O'Moores before the first Irish king of that name, the better. There must have been some mistake about that tree I spoke of.

"Captain O'Halloran, I apologize. I was wrong."

The two officers shook hands, and peace was restored; but Captain O'Moore was evidently a good deal puzzled, and mortified, by the problem the doctor had set before him and, after remaining silent for some time, evidently in deep thought, he left the room. Some of the others watched him from the window, until he had entered the door of his own quarters; and then there was a general shout of laughter.

"The O'Moore will be the death of me!" Teddy Burke exclaimed, as he threw himself back in a chair, exhausted. "He is one of the best fellows going, but you can lead him on into anything. I don't suppose he ever gave a thought to the O'Moores, anywhere further back than those kings. He had a vague idea that they must have been going on, simply because it must have seemed to him that a world without an O'Moore in it would be necessarily imperfect. It was Bob Repton's questions, as to what they were doing at the time of the flood, that brought him suddenly up; then he didn't hesitate for a moment in taking them back to Adam, or before him. Just on the ancestry of the O'Moores, Phelim has got a tile a little loose; but on all other points, he is as sensible as anyone in the regiment."

"I wonder you didn't add, 'and that is not saying much,' doctor," one of the lieutenants said.

"I may have thought it, youngster; but you see, I must have made exceptions in favour of myself and the colonel, so I held my tongue. The fact that we are all here, under a sun hot enough to cook a beefsteak; and that for the next two or three years we are going to have to work like niggers, and to be shot at by the Spaniards, and to be pretty well—if not quite—starved, speaks for itself as to the amount of sense we have got between us.

"There go the drums! Now, gentlemen, you have got the pleasure of a couple of hours' drill before you, and I am due at the hospital."

CHAPTER 9: THE ANTELOPE.

On the 3rd of July, a hundred and eighty volunteers from the infantry joined the artillery, who were not numerous enough to work all the guns of the batteries; and two days later a Spanish squadron of two men-of-war, five frigates, and eleven smaller vessels hove in sight from the west, and lay to off the entrance to the bay. Three privateers came in, and one of the Spanish schooners stood across to reconnoitre them; and a shot was fired at her from the batteries on Europa Point.

The Enterprise, frigate, had gone across to Tetuan to bring Mr. Logie over again. On her return, she was chased by the enemy's squadron; but succeeded in giving them the slip, in the dark. As she neared the Rock the captain, fearing to be discovered by the enemy, did not show the usual lights; and several shots were fired at the ship, but fortunately without effect.

On the following day letters were received from England, with the official news that hostilities had commenced between Great Britain and Spain; and the same evening a proclamation was published authorizing the capture of Spanish vessels, and letters of marque were given to the privateers in the bay, permitting them to capture Spanish as well as French vessels.

Among the privateers was the Antelope, which was one of those that had come in on the previous afternoon. Bob had not heard of her arrival, when he ran against Captain Lockett in the town, next morning. They had not met since Bob had landed, six months before.

"Well, Master Repton," the captain said, after they had shaken hands, "I was coming up to see you, after I had managed my business. I have letters, from Mr. Bale, for you and Mrs. O'Halloran."

"You are all well on board, I hope, captain?"

"Joe is well. He is first mate, now. Poor Probert is on his back in hospital, at Portsmouth. We had a sharp brush with a French privateer, but we beat her off. We had five men killed, and Probert had his leg taken off by an eighteen pound shot. We clapped on a tourniquet, but he had a very narrow escape of bleeding to death. Fortunately it was off Ushant and, the wind being favourable, we got into Portsmouth on the following morning; and the doctors think that they will pull him round.

"You have grown a good bit, since I saw you last."

"Not much, I am afraid," Bob replied dolefully, for his height was rather a sore point with him. "I get wider, but I don't think I have grown half an inch, since I came here."

"And how goes on the Spanish?"

"First rate. I can get on in it almost as well as in English."

"So you are in for some more fighting!"

"So they say," Bob replied, "but I don't think I am likely to have as close a shave, of a Spanish prison, as I had of a French one coming out here."

"No; we had a narrow squeak of it, that time."

"Was war declared when you came away?"

"No; the negotiations were broken off, and everyone knew that war was certain, and that the proclamation might be issued at any hour. I have not had a very fast run, and expected to have learned the news when I got here; but you are sure to hear it, in a day or two. That was why I came here. Freights were short for, with the ports of France and Spain both closed, there was little enough doing; so the owners agreed to let me drop trading and make straight for Gibraltar, so as to be ready to put out as soon as we get the declaration of war.

"There ought to be some first-rate pickings, along the coast. It isn't, here, as it is with France; where they have learned to be precious cautious, and where one daren't risk running in close to their coast on the chance of picking up a prize, for the waters swarm with their privateers. The Spaniards are a very slow set, and there is not much fear of their fitting out many privateers, for months to come; and the coasters will be a long time before they wake up to the fact that Spain is at war with us, and will go lumbering along from port to port, without the least fear of being captured. So it is a rare chance of making prize money.

"If you like a cruise, I shall be very happy to take you with me. I have seen you under fire, you know, and know that you are to be depended upon."

"I should like to go, above all things," Bob said; "but I don't know what my sister would say. I must get at her husband, first. If I can get him on my side, I think I shall be able to manage it with her.

"Well, will you come up to dinner?"

"No, I shall be busy all day. Here are the letters I was speaking of."

"Well, we have supper at seven. Will you come then?"

"With pleasure."

"Will Joe be able to come, too?"

"No; it wouldn't do for us both to leave the brig. The Spanish fleet may be sending in their boats, to try and cut some of our vessels out, and I should not feel comfortable if we were both ashore; but he will be very glad to see you, on board. We are anchored a cable length from the Water Port. You are pretty sure to see one of our boats alongside.

"The steward came off with me, to buy some soft tack and fresh meat. I saw him just before I met you. He told me he had got some bread, but that meat was at a ruinous price. I told him that he must get it, whatever price it was, and I expect by this time he has done so; so if you look sharp, you will get to the boat before it puts off with him."

The steward was in the act of getting into the boat, as Bob ran down.

"Glad to see you, Mister Repton," the man said, touching his hat. "Have you seen the captain, sir?"

"Yes, I have just left him. He told me I should catch you here."

"Thinking of having another cruise with us, sir?"

"I am thinking about it, Parker, but I don't know whether I shall be able to manage it."

They were soon alongside the Antelope.

"I thought it was you, Mister Repton, when I saw you run down to the boat," Joe Lockett said, as he shook hands with Bob.

"I am glad to see you again, Joe, and I am glad to hear you are first mate now; though of course, I am sorry for Mr. Probert."

"Yes, a bad job for him, a very bad job; but it won't be so bad, in his case, as in some. He has been talking, for the last two or three voyages, of retiring. An old uncle of his died, and left him a few acres of land down in Essex; and he has saved a bit of money out of his pay, and his share of the prizes we have made; and he talked about giving up the sea, and settling down on shore. So now, he will do it. He said as much as that, the night he was wounded.

"'Well,' he said, 'there won't be any more trouble about making up my mind, Joe. If I do get over this job, I have got to lay up as a dismantled hulk, for the rest of my life. I have been talking of it to you, but I doubt whether I should ever have brought myself to it, if it had not been for them Frenchmen's shot.'

"Well, will you come into the cabin, and take something?"

"No, thank you, Joe."

"Have they got the news about the declaration of war yet, Mister Repton?"

"No, it hasn't arrived yet."

"I expect we shall get some good pickings along the coast, directly it comes. We have been trading regularly, this last year; and we all of us want the chance of earning a bit of prize money. So I can tell you, we were very glad when we heard that we were going to take to that again, for a bit."

"Yes, the captain was telling me about it, and he has asked me to go for a trip with you."

"Well, I hope that you will be able to come, Mister Repton."

"I hope so, Joe. But there is one thing—if I do come, you must call me Bob. I hate being called Mister Repton."

"Well, it would be different if you come with us like that," the young mate said. "You see, you were a passenger, before; but if you came like this, you will be here as a friend, like. So it will come natural to call you Bob.

"And how do you like the place?"

"Oh, I like it well enough! I have been working very hard—at least, pretty hard—so I haven't had time to feel it dull; and of course I know all the officers in my brother-in-law's regiment. But I shall be very glad, indeed, of a cruise; especially as we are likely presently, by all they say, to be cut off here—some say for months, some say for years."

"But still, I expect there will be some lively work," the mate said, "if the Spaniards really mean to try and take this place."

"They will never take it," Bob said, "unless they are able to starve us out; and they ought not to be able to do that. Ships ought to be able to run in from the east, at any time; for the Spaniards dare not come across within range of the guns and, if the wind was strong, they could not get out from their side of the bay."

"That is true enough, and I expect you will find fast-sailing craft—privateers, and such like—will dodge in and out; but a merchantman won't like to venture over this side of the Straits, but will keep along the Moorish coasts. You see, they can't keep along the Spanish side without the risk of being picked up, by the gunboats and galleys with the blockading fleet. There are a dozen small craft lying over there, now, with the men-of-war.

"Still, I don't say none of them will make their way in here, because I daresay they will. They well know they will get big prices for their goods, if they can manage to run the blockade. We are safe to pick up some of the native craft, and bring them in; and so will the other privateers. I expect there will be a good many down here, before long. The worst of it is, there won't be any sale for the craft we capture."

"Except for firewood, Joe. That is one of the things I have heard we are sure to run very short of, if there is a long siege."

"Well, that will be something and, of course, any prizes we take laden with things likely to be useful, and sell here, we shall bring in; but the rest we shall have to send over to the other side, so as to be out of sight of their fleet, and then take them straight back to England.

"You see, we have shipped twice as many hands as we had on the voyage when you were with us. We had only a trader's crew, then; now we have a privateer's.

"Look there! There is a craft making in from the south. It is like enough she has got the despatches on board. There are two or three of those small Spanish craft getting under sail, to cut her off; but they won't do it. They could not head her, without getting under the fire of the guns of those batteries, on the point."

"Well, I will go ashore now, Joe, if you will let me have the boat. The captain is going to have supper with us, tonight. I wanted you to come too, but he said you could not both come on shore, together. I hope we shall see you tomorrow."

On landing, Bob made his way to the barrack, so as to intercept Gerald when he came off duty.

"Look here, Gerald," he said, when Captain O'Halloran came out of the orderly room, "I want you to back me up."

"Oh, you do? Then I am quite sure that you are up to some mischief or other, Bob, or you wouldn't want me to help you with Carrie."

"It is not mischief at all, Gerald. The Antelope came in last night, and I saw Captain Lockett this morning, and I have asked him to come to supper."

"Well, that is all right, Bob. We have plenty of food, at present."

"Yes, but that is not it, Gerald. He has invited me to go for a cruise with him. He is going to pick up some prizes, along the Spanish coast."

"Oh, that is it, is it? Well, you know very well Carrie won't let you go."

"Well, why shouldn't I, Gerald? You know that I have been working very well, here; and I am sure I have learnt as much Spanish, in six months, as uncle expected me to learn in two years—besides lots of Latin, and other things, from the doctor. Now, I do think that I have earned a holiday. A fellow at school always has a holiday. I am sure I have worked as hard as I did at school. I think it only fair that I should have a holiday. Besides, you see, I am past sixteen now and, being out here, I think I ought to have the chance of any fun there is; especially as we may be shut up here for ever so long."

"Well, there may be something in that, Bob. You certainly have stuck at it well; and you have not got into a single scrape since you came out, which is a deal more than I expected of you."

"Besides, you see, Gerald, if I had not made up my mind to stick to uncle's business, I might have been on board the Brilliant now, with Jim Sankey; and I think, after my giving up that chance, it would be only fair that I should be allowed to have a cruise, now that there is such a splendid opportunity."

"Well, Bob, I will do my best to persuade Carrie to let you go; but as far as you are concerned, you know, she is commanding officer."

Bob laughed, for he knew well enough that, not only in that but in all other matters, his sister generally had her own way.

"Well, I am very much obliged to you, Gerald. I am sure I should enjoy it, awfully."

"Don't thank me too soon, Bob. You have your sister to manage yet."

"Oh, we ought to be able to manage her, between us!" Bob said, confidently. "Look how you managed to have Dr. Burke for me, and you know how well that turned out."

"Yes, that was a triumph, Bob. Well, we will do our best."

"Why, Bob, where have you been all the morning?" his sister said. "The professor came at ten o'clock. He said he had arranged with you that he should be an hour later than usual, as he had another engagement, early."

"I forgot all about him, Carrie. He never came into my mind once, since breakfast. I met Captain Lockett down in the town, as soon as I went out, and I wanted him to come here to dinner. I knew you would be glad to see him, for you said you liked him very much; but he said he should be too busy, but he is coming up to supper, at seven. Then I went on board the Antelope and had a chat with his cousin Joe, who is first mate now."

When dinner was finished, Bob said:

"Don't you think, Carrie, I am looking pale? What with the heat, and what with my sticking in and working so many hours a day, I begin to feel that it is too much for me."

His sister looked anxiously at him.

"Well, Bob, you are looking a little pale, but so is everybody else; and no wonder, with this heat. But I have not been noticing you, particularly. What do you feel, Bob?"

"I think Bob feels as if he wants a holiday," Captain O'Halloran put in.

"Well, then, we must tell the professor that we don't want him to come, for a bit. Of course, Teddy Burke has given up coming, already.

"But if you have a holiday, Bob, what will you do with yourself?"

"I don't think I shall get any better here, Carrie. I think I want change of air."

"Nonsense, Bob! You can't be as bad as all that; and you never said anything about it, before.

"If he is not well, you must ask Teddy Burke to come up to see him, Gerald. Besides, how can he have change of air? The only place he could go to would be Tetuan, and it would be hotter there than it is here."

"I think, Carrie," Captain O'Halloran said, "I can prescribe for him without calling Teddy Burke in. I fancy the very thing that would get Bob set up would be a sea voyage."

"A sea voyage!" his wife repeated. "Do you mean that he should go back to England? I don't see anything serious the matter with him. Surely there cannot be anything serious enough for that."

"No, not so serious as that, Carrie. Just a cruise for a bit—on board the Antelope, for example."

Mrs. O'Halloran looked from one to the other; and then, catching a twinkle in Bob's eye, the truth flashed across her.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Gerald," she said, laughing in spite of herself. "You have quite frightened me. I see now. Captain Locket has invited Bob to go for a cruise with him, and all this about his being ill is nonsense, from beginning to end. You don't mean to say that you have been encouraging Bob in this ridiculous idea!"

"I don't know about encouraging, Carrie; but when he put it to me that he had been working very steadily, for the last six months; and that he had got into no scrapes; and that he had really earned a holiday, and that this would be a very jolly one; I did not see any particular reason why he shouldn't have it."

"No particular reason! Why, the Antelope is a privateer; and if she is going to cruise about, that means that she is going to fight, and he may get shot."

"So he may here, Carrie, if a ball happens to come the right way.

"I think Bob certainly deserves a reward for the way he has stuck to his lessons. You know you never expected he would do as he has done; and I am sure his uncle would be delighted, if he heard how well he speaks Spanish.

"As to his health, the boy is well enough; but there is no denying that this hot weather we are having takes it out of us all, and that it would be a mighty good thing if every soul on the Rock had the chance of a month's cruise at sea, to set him up.

"But seriously, Carrie, I don't see any reason, whatever, why he should not go. We didn't bring the boy out here to make a mollycoddle of him. He has got to settle down, some day, in a musty old office; and it seems to me that he ought to have his share in any fun and diversion that he has a chance of getting at, now. As to danger, sure you are a soldier's wife; and why shouldn't he have a share of it, just the same as if he had gone into the navy? You wouldn't have made any hullabaloo about it, if he had done that.

"This is Bob's good time, let him enjoy it. You are not going to keep a lad of his age tied to your apron strings. He has just got the chance of having two or three years of fighting, and adventure. It will be something for him to talk about, all his life; and my opinion is, that you had best let him go his own way. There are hundreds and hundreds of lads his age knocking about the world, and running all sorts of risks, without having elder sisters worrying over them."

"Very well, Gerald, if you and Bob have made up your minds about it, it is no use my saying no. I am sure I don't want to make a mollycoddle, as you call it, of him. Of course, uncle will blame me, if any harm comes of it."

"No, he won't, Carrie. Your uncle wants the boy to be a gentleman, and a man of the world. If you had said that a year ago, I would have agreed with you; but we know him better, now, and I will be bound he will like him to see as much life as he can, during this time. He has sent him out into the world.

"I will write to your uncle, myself, and tell him it is my doing entirely; and that I think it is a good thing Bob should take every chance he gets, and that I will answer for it that he won't be any the less ready, when the time comes, for buckling to at business."

"Well, if you really think that, Gerald, I have nothing more to say. You know I should like Bob to enjoy himself, as much as he can; only I seem to have the responsibility of him."

"I don't see why you worry about that, Carrie. If he had gone out to Cadiz or Oporto, as your uncle intended, you don't suppose the people there would have troubled themselves about him. He would just have gone his own way. You went your own way, didn't you? And it is mighty little you troubled yourself about what your uncle was likely to say, when you took up with an Irishman in a marching regiment; and I don't see why you should trouble now.

"The old gentleman means well with the boy but, after all, he is not either his father or his mother. You are his nearest relation and, though you are a married woman, you are not old enough, yet, to expect that a boy of Bob's age is going to treat you as if you were his mother, instead of his sister. There is not one boy in fifty would have minded us as he has done."

"Well, Bob, there is nothing more for me to say, after that," Carrie said, half laughing—though there were tears in her eyes.

"No, no, Carrie; I won't go, if you don't like," Bob said, impetuously.

"Yes, you shall go, Bob. Gerald is quite right. It is better you should begin to think for yourself; and I am sure I should like you to see things, and to enjoy yourself as much as you can. I don't know why I should fidget about you, for you showed you had much more good sense than I credited you with, when you gave up your chance of going to sea and went into uncle's office.

"I am sure I am the last person who ought to lecture you, after choosing to run about all over the world, and to take the risk of being starved here," and she smiled at her husband.

"You do as you like, Bob," she went on. "I won't worry about you, in future—only if you have to go back to England without a leg, or an arm, don't blame me; and be sure you tell uncle that I made as good a fight against it as I could."

And so it was settled.

"By the way," Bob exclaimed, presently, "I have got a letter from uncle to you, in my pocket; and one for myself, also. Captain Lockett gave them to me this morning, but I forgot all about them."

"Well, you are a boy!" his sister exclaimed.

"This is a nice sample, Gerald, of Bob's thoughtfulness.

"Well, give me the letter. Perhaps he writes saying you had better be sent home, by the first chance that offers itself."

Bob's face fell. He had, indeed, himself had some misgiving, ever since the troubles began, that his uncle might be writing to that effect.

"Well, look here, Carrie," he said, "here is the letter; but I think you had better not open it, till I have started on this cruise. Of course, if he says I must go back, I must; but I may as well have this trip, first."

Carrie laughed.

"What do you think, Gerald, shall I leave it till Bob has gone?"

"No, open it at once, Carrie. If he does say, 'send Bob on by the first vessel,' there is not likely to be one before he goes in the Antelope. Besides, that is all the more reason why he should go for a cruise, before he starts back for that grimy old place in Philpot Lane. We may as well see what the old gentleman says."

"I won't open mine till you have read yours, Carrie," Bob said. "I mean to go the cruise, anyhow; but if he says I must go after that, I will go. If he had been the old bear I used to think him, I would not mind it a snap; but he has been so kind that I shall certainly do what he wants."

Bob sat, with his hands deep in his pockets, watching his sister's face with the deepest anxiety as she glanced through the letter; Gerald standing by, and looking over her shoulder.

"The old gentleman is a brick!" Gerald, who was the first to arrive at the end, exclaimed. "I wish I had had such a sensible old relative, myself, but—barring an aunt who kept three parrots and a cat, and who put more store on the smallest of them than she did on me—never a relative did I have, in the world."

"Oh, tell me that afterwards!" Bob broke in.

"Do tell me what uncle says, Carrie."

His sister turned to the beginning again and read aloud:

"My dear niece—"

"Where does he write from?" Bob interrupted. "Is it from Philpot Lane, or from somewhere else?"

"He writes from Matlock, Derbyshire."

"That is all right," Bob said. "I thought, by what Gerald said, he could not have written from Philpot Lane."

"My dear niece," Carrie began again, "I duly received your letter, saying that Bob had arrived out safely; and also his more lengthy epistle, giving an account of the incidents of the voyage. I should be glad if you would impress upon him the necessity of being more particular in his punctuation, as also in the crossing of his t's and the dotting of his i's. I have also received your letter bearing date June 1st; and note, with great satisfaction, your statement that he has been most assiduous in his studies, and that he is already able to converse with some fluency in Spanish.

"Since that time the state of affairs between the two countries has much occupied my attention—both from its commercial aspect, which is serious, and in connection with Bob. As the issue of a declaration of war is hourly expected, as I write, the period of uncertainty may be considered as over, and the two countries may be looked upon as at war. I have reason to congratulate myself upon having followed the advice of my correspondent, and of having laid in a very large supply of Spanish wine; from which I shall, under the circumstances, reap considerable profits. I have naturally been debating, with myself, whether to send for Bob to return to England; or to proceed to Lisbon, and thence to Oporto, to the care of my correspondent there. I have consulted in this matter my junior partner, Mr. Medlin, who is staying with me here for a few days; and I am glad to say that his opinion coincides with that at which I had finally arrived—namely, to allow him to remain with you.

"His conduct when with me, and the perseverance with which—as you report—he is pursuing his studies, has shown me that he will not be found wanting in business qualities, when he enters the firm. I am, therefore, all the more willing that he should use the intervening time in qualifying himself, generally, for a good position in the city of London; especially for that of the head of a firm in the wine trade, in which an acquaintance with the world, and the manners of a gentleman, if not of a man of fashion—a matter in which my firm has been very deficient, heretofore—are specially valuable. It is probable, from what I hear, that Gibraltar will be besieged; and the event is likely to be a memorable one. It will be of advantage to him, and give him a certain standing, to have been present on such an occasion.

"And if he evinces any desire to place any services he is able to render, either as a volunteer or otherwise, at the disposal of the military authorities—and I learn, from Mr. Medlin, that it is by no means unusual for the civil inhabitants of a besieged town to be called upon, to aid in its defence—I should recommend that you should place no obstacle in his way. As a lad of spirit, he would naturally be glad of any opportunity to distinguish himself. I gathered, from him, that one of his schoolfellows was serving as a midshipman in a ship of war that would, not improbably, be stationed at Gibraltar; and Bob would naturally dislike remaining inactive, when his schoolfellow, and many other lads of the same age, were playing men's parts in an historical event of such importance. Therefore you will fully understand that you have my sanction, beforehand, to agree with any desire he should express in this direction, if it seems reasonable and proper to you and Captain O'Halloran.

"As it is probable that the prices of food, and other articles, will be extremely high during the siege, I have written, by this mail, to Messieurs James and William Johnston, merchants of Gibraltar—with whom I have had several transactions—authorizing them to honour drafts duly drawn by Captain O'Halloran, upon me, to the extent of 500 pounds; such sum being, of course, additional to the allowance agreed upon between us for the maintenance and education of your brother.

"I remain, my dear niece, your affectionate uncle, John Bale."

"Now I call that being a jewel of an uncle," Captain O'Halloran said, while Bob was loud in his exclamations of pleasure.

"Now you see what you brought on yourself, Bob, by your forgetfulness. Here we have had all the trouble in life to get Carrie to agree to your going while, had she read this letter first, she would not have had a leg to stand upon—at least, metaphorically speaking; practically, no one would doubt it, for a minute."

"Practically, you are a goose, Gerald; metaphorically, uncle is an angel. But I am very, very glad. That has relieved me from the responsibility, altogether; and you know, at heart, I am just as willing that Bob should enjoy himself as you are.

"Now, what does your uncle say to you, Bob?"

Bob opened and read his uncle's letter, and then handed it to his sister.

"It is just the same sort of thing, Carrie. I can see Mr. Medlin's hand in it, everywhere. He says that, for the time, I must regard my connection with the firm as of secondary importance; and take any opportunity that offers to show the spirit of an English gentleman, by doing all in my power to uphold the dignity of the British flag; and taking any becoming part that may offer, in the defence of the town. Of course he says he has heard, with pleasure, of my progress in Spanish; and that he and his junior partner look forward, with satisfaction, to the time when I shall enter the firm.'

"My dear Carrie," Captain O'Halloran said, "I will get a bottle of champagne from the mess; and this evening, at supper, we will drink your excellent uncle's health, with all the honours. I will ask Teddy Burke to come up and join us."

"Then I think, Gerald," his wife said, smiling, "that as Captain Lockett will be here, too, one bottle of champagne will not go very far."

"I put it tentatively, my dear; We will say two bottles, and we will make the first inroad on our poultry yard. We had twenty eggs, this morning; and the woman downstairs reports that two of the hens want to sit, though how they explained the matter to her is more than I know; anyhow, we can afford a couple of chickens."

It was a very jovial supper, especially as it was known that the news of the proclamation of war had been brought in, by the ship that had arrived that morning.

"By the way, Mrs. O'Halloran," Captain Lockett said, "I have a consignment for you. I will land it, the first thing in the morning, for I shall sail in the evening. We are to get our letters of marque, authorizing the capture of Spanish vessels, at ten o'clock in the morning."

"What is the consignment, captain?"

"It is from Mr. Bale, madam. I saw him in town, a week before I sailed, and told him I was likely to come on here, direct; and he sent off at once three cases of champagne, and six dozen of port, directed to you; and an eighteen gallon cask of Irish whisky, for Captain O'Halloran."

"My dear," Captain O'Halloran said solemnly, "I believe that you expressed, today, the opinion that your uncle was, metaphorically, an angel. I beg that the word metaphorically be omitted. If there was ever an angel in a pigtail, and a stiff cravat, that angel is Mr. John Bale, of Philpot Lane."

"It is very good of him," Carrie agreed. "We could have done very well without the whisky, but the port wine and the champagne may be very useful, if this siege is going to be the terrible thing you all seem to fancy."

"A drop of the craytur is not to be despised, Mrs. O'Halloran," Dr. Burke said; "taken with plenty of water it is a fine digestive and, when we run short of wine and beer, you will not be despising it, yourself."

"I did not know, Teddy Burke, that you had any experience, whatever, of whisky mixed with plenty of water."

"You are too hard on me, altogether," the doctor laughed. "There is no soberer man in the regiment than your humble servant."

"Well, it will do you all good, if you get on short allowance of wine, for a time. I can't think why men want to sit, after dinner, and drink bottle after bottle of port wine. It is all very well to say that everyone does it, but that is a very poor excuse. Why should they do it? Women don't do it, and I don't see why men should. I hope the time will come when it is considered just as disgraceful, for a man to drink, as it is for a woman.

"And now, Captain Lockett, about Bob. What time must he be on board?"

"He must be on board before gunfire, Mrs. O'Halloran, unless you get a special order from the town major. I was obliged to get one, myself, for this evening. The orders are strict, now; all the gates are closed at gunfire."

"Yes, and mighty strict they are," Captain O'Halloran said. "There was Major Corcoran, of the 72nd, and the doctor of the regiment were out fishing yesterday; and the wind fell, and the gun went just as they were landing, and divil a bit could they get in. The major is a peppery little man, and I would have given anything to have seen him. One of the Hanoverian regiments furnished the guard, at the water batteries; and the sentry told him, if he came a foot nearer in the boat they would fire and, in the end, he and the doctor had to cover themselves up with a sail, and lie there all night. I hear the major went to lodge a complaint, when he landed; but of course the men were only doing their duty, and I hear Eliott gave him a wigging, for endeavouring to make them disobey orders."

"I will be on board before gunfire, Captain Lockett. There is no fear of my missing it."

"How long do you expect to be away, Captain Lockett?" Mrs. O'Halloran asked.

"That depends on how we get on. If we are lucky, and pick up a number of prizes, we may bring them in in a week; if not we may be three weeks, especially if this calm weather lasts."

"I am sure I hope you won't be too lucky, at first, captain," Bob put in. "I don't want the cruise to finish in a week."

"Oh, I sha'n't consider the cruise is finished, merely because we come in, Bob!" the captain said. "We shall be going out again, and only put in here to bring in our prizes. The cruise will last as long as Captain O'Halloran and your sister will allow you to remain on board.

"I expect that I shall be able to make you very useful. I shall put you down in the ship's books as third mate. You won't be able to draw prize money, as an officer, because the number of officers entitled to prize money was entered when the crew signed articles; but if I put you down as supercargo you will share, with the men, in any prizes we take while you are away with us."

"That will be jolly, captain; not because of the money, you know, but because it will give one more interest in the cruise. Besides, I shall like something to do."

"Oh, I will give you something to do! I shall put you in Joe's watch, and then you will learn something. It is always as well to pick up knowledge, when you get a chance; and if we do take any prizes it will be your duty, as supercargo, to take an inventory of what they have on board."

The next morning Bob packed his trunks, the first thing; then he went round to the professor's, and told him that he was going away, for a fortnight or so, for a cruise; then he went down to the port, and met Joe Lockett when he landed, and brought him up to breakfast, as had been arranged with the captain the night before. After that, he went with him up the Rock to look at the Spaniards—whose tents were a good deal more numerous than they had been, and who were still at work, arming the forts.

"If I were the general," Joe said, "I would go out at night, with two or three regiments, and spike all those guns, and blow up the forts. The Dons wouldn't be expecting it; and it would be a good beginning, and would put the men in high spirits.

"Do you see, the Spanish fleet has drifted away almost out of sight, to the east. I thought what it would be, at sunset yesterday, when I saw that they did not enter the bay; for the current would be sure to drive them away, if the wind didn't spring up.

"Well, I hope we shall get a little, this evening. And now I must be going down, for there is a good deal to do, before we sail."

CHAPTER 10: A CRUISE IN A PRIVATEER.

Bob was on board the Antelope a quarter of an hour before gunfire. No movement was made until after sunset, for some of the gunboats over at Algeciras might have put out, had they seen any preparations for making sail; but as soon as it became dark the anchor was hove, the sails dropped and sheeted home, and the brig began to move slowly through the water. As she breasted Europa Point, her course was altered to east by north, and the Rock faded from sight in the darkness.

The first mate was on watch, and Bob walked up and down the deck with him.

"There is no occasion for you to keep up," Joe Lockett said. "You may just as well turn."

"Oh no, I mean to keep the watch with you!" Bob said. "The captain said that I was to be in your watch, and I want you to treat me just the same way as if I were a midshipman under you."

"Well, if you were a midshipman, there wouldn't be anything for you to do, now: still, if you like to keep up, of course you can do so. I shall be glad of your company, and you will help keep a sharp lookout for ships."

"There is no chance of our coming across any Spanish traders tonight, I suppose, Joe?"

"Not in the least. They would keep a deal farther out than we shall, if they were bound either for Algeciras or through the Straits. We are not likely to meet anything, till we get near Malaga. After that, of course, we shall be in the line of coasters. There are Almeria, and Cartagena, and Alicante, and a score of small ports between Alicante and Valencia."

"We don't seem to be going through the water very fast, Joe."

"No, not more than two or two and a half knots an hour. However, we are in no hurry. With a light wind like this, we don't want to get too close to the shore, or we might have some of their gunboats coming out after us. I expect that in the morning, if the wind holds light, the captain will take in our upper sails, and just drift along. Then, after it gets dark, he will clap on everything; and run in so as to strike the coast a few miles above Malaga. Then we will take in sail, and anchor as close in as we dare. Anything coming along, then, will take us for a craft that has come out from Malaga."

At midnight the second mate, whose name was Crofts, came up to relieve watch; and Bob, who was beginning to feel very sleepy, was by no means sorry to turn in. It hardly seemed to him that he had closed an eye, when he was aroused by a knocking at the cabin door.

"It's two bells, sir, and Mr. Lockett says you are to turn out."

Bob hurried on his things and went up, knowing that he was an hour late.

"I thought you wanted to keep watch, Bob. You ought to have been on deck at eight bells."

"So I should have been, if I had been woke," Bob said, indignantly. "I am not accustomed to wake up, just after I go to sleep. It doesn't seem to me that I have been in bed five minutes. If you wake me, tomorrow morning, you will see I will be up, sharp enough.

"There is hardly any wind."

"No, we have been only crawling along all night. There is Gib, you see, behind us."

"Why, it doesn't look ten miles off," Bob said, in surprise.

"It is twice that. It is two or three and twenty, I should say.

"Now, the best thing you can do is to go down to the waist, slip off your togs, and have a few buckets of water poured over you. That will wake you up, and you will feel ever so much more comfortable, afterwards. I have just told the steward to make us a couple of cups of coffee. They will be ready by the time you have had your wash."

Bob followed the advice and, after a bath, a cup of coffee, and a biscuit, he no longer felt the effects from the shortness of the night. The sun had already risen, and there was not a cloud upon the sky.

"What are those, over there?" he asked, pointing to the southeast. "They look like sails."

"They are sails. They are the upper sails of the Spanish fleet. I expect they are trying to work back into the bay again, but they won't do it, unless they get more wind. You see, I have taken the topgallant sails off the brig, so as not to be seen.

"There is the Spanish coast, you see, twelve or fourteen miles away, to port. If you like, you can take the glass and go up into the maintop, and see if you can make anything out on shore."

Bob came down in half an hour.

"There are some fishing boats," he said, "at least, they look like fishing boats, close inshore, just abreast of us."

"Yes, there are two or three little rivers on this side of Malaga. There is not water in them for craft of any size, but the fishing boats use them. There is a heavy swell sets in here, when the wind is from the east with a bit south in it, and they run up there for shelter."

Captain Lockett now came up on deck.

"Good morning, Bob! I did not see you here, when watch was changed."

"No, sir, I wasn't woke; but I mean to be up another morning."

"That is right, Bob. Joe and I agreed to give you an extra hour, this morning. Four hours are very short measure, to one who is not accustomed to it; but you will soon find that you can turn in and get a sleep, when your watch is over, whatever the time of day."

"It seems to me that this watch has the worst of it, Captain Lockett. We had from eight to twelve, and now from four to eight; and the other had only four hours on deck."

"Yours is considered the best watch, Bob. The middle watch, as the one that comes on at twelve o'clock is called, is always the most disliked. You see, at eight bells you go off and have your breakfast comfortably, and can then turn in till twelve o'clock; and you can get another caulk, from five or six till eight in the evening. Of course, if there is anything to do, bad weather or anything of that sort, both watches are on deck, all day."

"Well, I am almost sure I should like the other watch best," Bob said.

"You are wrong, lad, especially in summer. You see, it is not fairly dark till nine, and you wouldn't turn in till ten, anyhow; so that, really, you are only kept two hours out of your bunk, at that watch. It is getting light when you come up, at four; and at five we begin to wash decks, and there is plenty to occupy you, so that it doesn't seem long till eight bells. The others have to turn out at twelve o'clock, just when they are most sleepy; and to be on watch for the four dark hours, and then go down just as it is getting light.

"On a cold night in winter, in the channel, I think perhaps the advantage is the other way. But, in fact, men get so accustomed to the four hours in, and the four hours out, that it makes very little difference to them how it goes."

All day the brig kept on the same course, moving very slowly through the water, and passing the coast as much by aid of the current as by that of her sails.

"We are pretty well off Malaga," Captain Lockett said, in the afternoon. "If there had been any wind, we should have had a chance of picking up something making from there to the Straits; but there is no chance of that, today. People like making quick voyages, when there is a risk of falling in with an enemy; and they won't be putting out from port until there is some change in the weather. However, it looks to me as if there is a chance of a little breeze, from the south, when the sun goes down. I have seen a flaw or two on the water, that way."

"Yes, it seems to me darker over there," the mate said. "I will go up and have a look round.

"Yes, sir, there is certainly a breeze stirring, down to the south," he shouted, from aloft.

"That will just suit us," the captain said. "We must be twenty miles off the coast at least and, even if they had noticed us from above the town, we are too far off for them to make us out, at all; so it will be safe for us to run in to the land.

"We shall rely upon you, Bob, if we are hailed."

"I will do my best to throw dust in their eyes, captain. You must tell me, beforehand, all particulars; so that I can have the story pat."

"We will wait till we see what sort of craft is likely to hail us. A tale may be good enough, for the skipper of a coaster, that might not pass muster with the captain of a gunboat."

"What are the coasters likely to be laden with?"

"There is never any saying. Mostly fruit and wine, grain and olives. Then some of them would be taking goods, from the large ports, to the small towns and villages along the coast. Some of the coasters are well worth picking up; but of course, the craft we shall be chiefly on the lookout for will be those from abroad. Some of these have very valuable cargoes. They bring copper and lead, and sometimes silver from the mines of Mexico and South America. Some of them carry a good lot of silver, but it is too much to hope that we should run across such a prize as that. They bring over hides, too; they are worth money. Then, of course, there are ships that have been trading up the Mediterranean with France and Italy or the Levant.

"So, you see, there is a considerable variety in the chances of what we may light upon. Coasters are, of course, the staple, so to speak. If we have anything like luck, we shall not do badly, with them. The others we must look upon as the prizes in the lottery."

Before the sun set the breeze came up to them, and the brig was at once headed for the land. At ten o'clock the lights of Malaga were made out on the port beam, and the brig bore away a little to the east. Two hours later the land was looming, not far ahead.

Sail was got off her, and a man placed in the chains, and soundings taken. This was continued until the water shoaled to eight fathoms, when the brig was brought up, head to wind, and the anchor let go. Then an anchor watch of four men was set, and the rest of the crew allowed to turn in.

At daybreak the officers were out again, and it was found that the brig was lying within a quarter of a mile of the land, in a slight indentation of the coast. The wind had died away, and the sails were loosed, and suffered to fall against the masts.

"It could not be better," Captain Lockett said. "We look, now, as if we had been trying to make up or down the coast, and had been forced to come to anchor here. Fortunately there don't seem to be any villages near, so we are not likely to have anyone coming out to us."

"How far do you think we are from Malaga, captain?"

"About ten miles, I should say, Bob. Why do you ask?"

"I was only thinking whether it would be possible for me to make my way there, and find out what vessels there are in harbour, and whether any of them are likely to be coming this way. But if it is ten miles, I am afraid it is too far. I should have to pass through villages; and I might be questioned where I came from, and where I was going. I don't know that my Spanish would pass muster, if I were questioned like that.

"I should be all right, if I were once in a seaport. No one would be likely to ask me any questions. Then I could stroll about, and listen to what was said and, certainly, I could talk quite well enough to go in and get a meal, and all that sort of thing."

"I couldn't let you do that, Bob," the captain said. "It is a very plucky idea, but it wouldn't be right to let you carry it out. You would get hung as a spy, if you were detected."

"I don't think there is the least fear in the world of my being detected, in a seaport," Bob said, "and I should think it great fun; but I shouldn't like to try to cross the country. Perhaps we may have a better chance, later on."

The captain shook his head.

"You might go on board some ship, if one brings up at anchor anywhere near us, Bob. If you got detected, there, we would take her and rescue you. But that is a different thing to letting you go ashore."

Presently the sails of two fishing boats were seen, coming out from beyond a low point, three miles to the east.

"I suppose there is a fishing village, there," the mate said. "I am glad they are no nearer."

He examined the boats with a glass.

"They are working out with sweeps. I expect they hope to get a little wind, when they are in the offing."

Just as they were at breakfast the second mate, who was on deck, called down the skylight:

"There are three craft to the west, sir. They have just come out from behind the point there. They are bringing a little breeze with them."

"What are they like, Mr. Crofts?"

"One is a polacre, another a xebec, and the third looks like a full-rigged craft; but as she is end on, I can't say for certain."

"All right, Mr. Crofts! I will be up in five minutes. We can do nothing until we get the wind, anyhow."

Breakfast was speedily finished, and they went on deck. The Spanish flag was already flying from the peak. The three craft were about two miles away.

"How are they sailing, Mr. Crofts?"

"I fancy the xebec is the fastest, sir. She was astern just now, and she is abreast of the polacre now, as near as I can make out. The ship, or brig—whichever it is—seems to me to be dropping astern."

"Heave away at the anchor, Joe. Get in all the slack, so as to be ready to hoist, as soon as the breeze reaches us. I don't want them to come up to us. The line they are taking, now, will carry them nearly half a mile outside us, which is fortunate. Run in six of the guns, and throw a tarpaulin over the eighteen pounder. Three guns, on each side, are about enough for us to show."

The breeze caught them when the three Spanish craft were nearly abeam.

"They have more wind, out there, than we shall have here," the captain said; "which is an advantage, for I don't want to run away from them.

"Now, get up the anchor, Joe. Don't take too many hands."

The watch below had already been ordered to sit down on the deck, and half the other watch were now told to do the same.

"Twelve or fourteen hands are quite enough to show," the captain said.

"The anchor's up, sir," Joe shouted.

"Let it hang there. We will get it aboard, presently.

"Now haul that fore-staysail across, ease off the spanker sheet.

"Now, as she comes round, haul on the braces and sheets, one by one. Do it in as lubberly a way as you can."

The brig, which had been riding with her head to the west, came slowly round; the yards being squared in a slow fashion, in strong contrast to the active way in which they were generally handled. The captain watched the other craft, carefully.

"The xebec and polacre are gaining on us, but we are going as fast through the water as the three master. When we get the wind a little more, we shall have the heels of them all.

"Get a sail overboard, Joe, and tow it under her port quarter. Don't give her too much rope, or they might catch sight of it, on board the ship. That will bring us down to her rate of sailing.

"I want to keep a bit astern of them. We dare not attack them in the daylight; they mount too many guns for us, altogether. That big fellow has got twelve on a side, the polacre has eight, and the xebec six, so between them they have fifty-two guns. We might try it, if they were well out at sea; but it would never do, here. There may be galleys or gunboats within hearing, so we must bide our time.

"I think we are in luck, this time, Joe. That ship must have come foreign; at least, I should say so by her appearance, though she may be from Cadiz. As to the other two, they may be anything. The xebec, no doubt, is a coast trader. The polacre may be one thing, or another, but I should hardly think she has come across the Atlantic. Likely enough she is from Bilbao or Santander. The ship is the fellow to get hold of, if we get a chance. I shall be quite content to leave the others alone."

"I should think so," Joe agreed. "The ship ought to be a valuable prize, wherever she comes from. If she is sound, and pretty new, she would fetch a good sum, if we can get her into an English port."

The wind continued to hold light, and the four vessels made but slow progress through the water. The two leaders, however, gradually improved their position. They were nearly matched, in point of sailing; and their captains were evidently making a race of it, hoisting every stitch of canvas they were able to show. By the afternoon they were fully two miles ahead of the ship, which was half a mile on the starboard bow of the brig.

The wind died away to nothing, as the sun set. The three Spanish vessels had all been edging in towards shore, and the polacre anchored just before sunset. The ship held on for another hour, but was a mile astern of the other two when she, also, dropped her anchor.

The sail, that had been towing overboard from the brig, had been got on board again when the wind began to drop; and she had come up to within little more than a quarter of a mile of the ship. The anchor was let go, as soon as it was seen that the crew of the ship were preparing to anchor, so that the brig should be first to do so. Whether there had been any suspicions, on board the Spaniards, as to the character of the brig, they could not tell but, watching her closely, Captain Lockett saw that the order to anchor was countermanded, as soon as it was seen that the brig had done so.

A few minutes after the men again went forward, and the anchor was dropped; for the vessel was making no way whatever, through the water.

"Well, Joe, there we are, close to her, now. The question is, what are we to do next? If there was any wind, it would be simple enough. We would drop alongside, in the middle watch; and carry her by boarding, before the Dons had time to get out of their hammocks. But as it is, that is out of the question and, of course, we can't think of towing her up. On such a still night as this will be, they would hear the slightest noise."

"We might attack her in the boats," the mate said.

"Yes, that would be possible; but their watch would hear the oars, the instant we began to row. You see, by the number of guns she carries, she must be strongly manned."

"I expect most of them are small," Joe said, "and meant for show, rather than use. It is likely enough she may have taken half of them on board at Cadiz, or Malaga, so as to give her a formidable appearance, in case she should fall in with any craft of our description. If she has come across the Atlantic, she would never have carried anything like that number of guns, for Spain was not at war with anyone."

"No; but craft flying the black flag are still to be found in those waters, Joe, and she might carry her guns for defence against them. But it is not a question of guns, at present, it is a question of the crew. It isn't likely that she carries many more than we do and, if we could but get alongside her, there would be no fear about it, at all; but I own I don't like the risk of losing half my men, in an attack on a craft like that, unless we can have the advantage of a surprise."

"What do you say to my swimming off to her, as soon as it gets quite dark, captain?" Bob said. "I am a very good swimmer. We used to bathe regularly at Putney, where I was at school; and I have swum across the Thames and back, lots of times. There is sure to be a little mist on the water, presently, and they won't be keeping a very sharp lookout till it gets later. I can get hold of a cable and climb up; and get in over the bow, if there is no lookout there, and see what is going on. There is no danger in the thing for, if I am discovered, I have only got to dive and swim back again. There is no current to speak of, here; and there wouldn't be the least chance of their hitting me, in the dark. I should certainly be able to learn something, by listening to their talk."

"It would be a very risky thing, Bob," Captain Lockett said, shaking his head. "I shouldn't like to let you do it; though of course it would be a great thing, if we could learn something about her. I own I don't like her appearance, though I can't say why. Somehow or other, I don't think she is all right. Either all those guns are a mere pretence, and she is weak handed, or she must carry a very big crew."

"Well, I don't see there can be any possible harm in my trying to get on board her, captain. Of course, if I am hailed as I approach her, I shall turn and come back again. The night will be dark, but I shall have no difficulty in finding her, from the talking and noise on board.

"Well, Joe, what do you think?" the captain said, doubtfully.

"I think you might let Bob try," Joe said. "I should not mind trying at all but, as I can't speak Spanish, I should be able to learn nothing. They are not likely to be setting a watch, and keeping a sharp lookout, for some time; and I should think that he might, possibly, get on board unobserved. If they do make him out, he has only to keep on diving and, in the dark, there would be little chance of their hitting him. Besides, they certainly couldn't make out that it was a swimmer. If they noticed a ripple in the water, they would be sure to think it was a fish of some sort."

Bob continued to urge that he should be allowed to try it and, at last, Captain Lockett agreed to his doing so. It was already almost dark enough for the attempt to be made, and Bob prepared at once for the swim. He took off his coat, waistcoat, and shirt; and put on a dark knitted jersey, fastened a belt tightly round his waist, over his breeches, and took off his shoes.

"If I am seen," he said, "you are sure to hear them hailing, or shouting; and then please show a lantern over the stern," for, slight as the current was, it sufficed to make the vessel swing head to west.

A rope was lowered over the side and, by this, he slipped down quietly into the water, which was perfectly warm. Then he struck off noiselessly, in the direction of the ship. He kept the two masts of the brig in one, as long as he could make them out but, owing to the mist on the water, he soon lost sight of her; but he had no difficulty in keeping a straight course, as he could plainly hear the sound of voices, ahead of him. Taking the greatest pains to avoid making the slightest splash, and often pausing to listen, Bob swam on until he saw a dark mass looming up in front of him.

He now did little more than float, giving a gentle stroke, occasionally, and drifting towards it until he grasped the cable.

He now listened intently. There were voices on the fo'castle, above him; and he determined, before trying to climb up there, to swim round the vessel—keeping close to her side, so that he could not be seen, unless someone leaned far over the bulwark. Halfway along he came upon a projection and, looking up, saw that slabs of wood, three inches wide, were fixed against the side, at intervals of a foot apart; so as to form an accommodation ladder, when it was not considered necessary to lower a gangway. Two hand ropes hung by the side of it.

His way was now easy. He drew himself out of the water by the ropes, and ascended the ladder; then crawled along outside the bulwark until he came to a porthole, from which a gun projected; then he crawled in there, and lay under the cannon.

Two or three lanterns were suspended above the deck and, by their light, Bob could at once see that he was on board a ship of war. Groups of sailors were sitting on the deck, among the guns; and he saw that most of these were run in, and that they were of heavy calibre, several of them being 32-pounders.

As the captain and Joe had both agreed that the guns were only 14-pounders, Bob had no difficulty in arriving at the fact that these must have been mere dummies, thrust out of the portholes to deceive any stranger as to her armament. He lay listening, for some time, to the talk of the sailors; and gathered that the ship had been purposely disguised, before putting out from Malaga, in order to deceive any English privateers she might come across as to her strength. He learned also that considerable doubts were entertained, as to the brig; and that the xebec and polacre had been signalled to go on ahead, so as to induce the brig—if she should be an enemy—to make an attack.

The reason why she had not been overhauled, during the day, was that the captain feared she might escape him in a light wind; for the watch had been vigilant, and had made out that she was towing something, to deaden her way. It was considered likely that, taking the ship for a merchantman, an attack would be made in boats during the night; and the men joked as to the surprise their assailants would get. Boarding pikes were piled in readiness; shot had been placed in the racks, ready to throw down into the boats as they came alongside; and the ship's boats had been swung out, in readiness for lowering—as it was intended to carry the brig, by boarding, after the repulse and destruction of her boats.

"We have had a narrow escape of catching a tartar," Bob said, to himself. "It is very lucky I came on board to reconnoitre. The Spaniards are not such duffers as we thought them. We fancied we were taking them in, and very nearly fell into a trap, ourselves."

Very quietly he crawled back under the porthole, made his way along outside the bulwark until his hand touched the rope, and then slid down by it into the water. As he knew there was more chance of a sharp watch being kept, in the eyes of the ship, than elsewhere, he swam straight out from her side until she became indistinct, and then headed for the brig. The lights on board the Spaniard served as a guide to him, for some time; but the distance seemed longer to him than it had before, and he was beginning to fancy he must have missed the brig, when he saw her looming up on his right. In three or four minutes he was alongside.

"The brig there!" he hailed. "Drop me a rope overboard."

There was a stir overhead, at once.

"Where are you, Bob?" Captain Lockett asked, leaning over the side.

"Just below you, sir."

A rope was dropped. Bob grasped it, and was hauled up.

"Thank God you are back again!" the captain said. "I have been blaming myself, ever since you started; though, as all was quiet, we felt pretty sure they hadn't made you out. Well, have you any news? Did you get on board?"

"You will get no prize money this time, captain. The Spaniard is a ship of war, mounting twenty-four guns; none of them smaller than eighteens, and ten of them thirty-twos."

"Impossible, Bob! We could not have been so mistaken. Joe and I were both certain that they were fourteens."

"Yes, sir; but those things you saw were dummies. The guns, themselves, are almost all drawn in. All the thirty-twos are, and most of the eighteens. She has been specially disguised, at Malaga, in hopes of tempting a craft like yours to attack her and, what is more, she has a shrewd suspicion of what you are;" and he related the whole of the conversation he had heard, and described the preparations for repulsing a boat attack and, in turn, carrying the brig in the ship's boats.

Captain Lockett was thunderstruck.

"The Spanish officer who commands her must be a smart fellow," he said, "and we have had a narrow escape of running our head into a noose—thanks to you, Bob; for Joe and I had quite made up our minds to attack her, in the middle watch.

"Well, the only thing for us to do is to get away from here, as soon as we can. If she finds we don't attack her, tonight, she is sure to send a boat to us, in the morning; and then, if we have an engagement, we could hardly hope to get off without losing some of our spars—even if we were not sunk—with such heavy metal as she carries. We should have the other two craft down on us, too, and our chances of getting away would be worth nothing.

"Well, I suppose, Joe, our best plan will be to tow her away?"

"I should think so, sir. When they hear us at it, they may send their boats out after us, but we can beat them off; and I should hardly think that they would try it, for they will be sure that, if we are a privateer, we have been playing the same game as they have, and hiding our guns, and will guess that we carry a strong crew."

"Send the crew aft, Joe. I will tell them how matters stand.

"We have had a narrow escape of catching a tartar, my lads," he said, when the men went aft. "You all know Mr. Repton swam off, an hour ago, to try and find out what the ship was like. Well, he has been on board, and brings back news that she is no trader, but a ship of war, disguised; and that she carries twenty-four guns—eighteen-pounders and thirty-twos. If we met while out at sea, we might make a fight of it; but it would never do, here, especially as her two consorts would be down upon us. She suspects what we are, although she is not certain; and everything is in readiness to repel a boat attack—her captain's intention being, if we tried, to sink or cripple the boats, and then to attack us with her guns.

"So you may thank Mr. Repton that you have had a narrow escape of seeing the inside of a Spanish prison.

"Now, what I propose to do is to tow her out. Get the four boats in the water, as quietly as you can. We have greased the falls, already. We will tow her straight ahead, at any rate for a bit. That craft won't be able to bring any guns to bear upon us, except perhaps a couple of bow chasers; and as she won't be able to see us, there is not much chance of our being hit. Pass the hawser along, from boat to boat, and row in a line ahead of her. The hull will shelter you. Then lay out heartily; but be ready, if you are hailed, to throw off the hawser and get back on board again, as soon as you can, for they may send their boats out after us. We shall get a start anyhow for, when they hear you rowing, they will think you are putting off to attack them; and it will be some minutes before they will find out their mistake.

"Joe, do you go in charge of the boats. I will take the helm. You must cut the cable. They would hear the clank of the windlass."

The operation of lowering boats was conducted very silently. Bob had taken his place at the taffrail, and stood listening for any sound that would show that the Spaniards had heard what was doing. The oars were scarcely dipped in the water, when he heard a sudden lull in the distant talking. A minute later, it broke out again.

"They have orders to pay no attention to the noises," Captain Lockett said, "so as to lead us to think that we shall take them unawares.

"There, she is moving now," he added, as he looked down into the water.

Four or five minutes elapsed; and then, in the stillness of the evening, they could hear a loud hail, in Spanish:

"What ship is that? Cease rowing, or we will sink you!"

"Don't answer," Captain Lockett said. "They have nothing but the confused sound of the oars to tell them where we are."

The hail was repeated and, a minute later, there was the flash of a gun in the darkness, and a shot hummed through the air.

"Fire away!" the captain muttered. "You are only wasting ammunition."

For some minutes the Spaniard continued to fire her two bow guns. Then, after a pause, there was a crash; and twelve guns were discharged, together.

"We are getting farther off, every minute," the captain said, "and unless an unlucky shot should strike one of her spars, we are safe."

The broadside was repeated four times, and then all was silent.

"We are a mile away from them now, Bob; and though, I daresay, they can hear the sound of the oars, it must be mere guesswork as to our position."

He went forward to the bows, and hailed the boats.

"Take it easy now, Mr. Lockett. I don't think she will fire any more. When the men have got their wind, row on again. I shall head her out, now. We must give her a good three miles offing, before we stop."

The men in the four boats had been exerting themselves to their utmost, and it was five minutes before they began rowing again. For an hour and a half they continued their work, and then Captain Lockett said to the second mate:

"You can go forward, and hail them to come on board. I think we have been moving through the water about two knots an hour, so we must be three miles seaward of him."

As soon as the men came on board, a tot of grog was served out, all round. Then the watch below turned in.

"You won't anchor, I suppose, captain?"

"No, there is a considerable depth of water here, and a rocky bottom. I don't want to lose another anchor, and it would take us something like half an hour to get it up again; besides, what current there is will drift us eastward.

"There is more of it, here, than we had inshore. I should say there must be nearly a knot an hour, which will take us a good distance away from those gentlemen, before morning.

"Now, Bob, you had better have a glass of grog, and then turn in. Joe will excuse you keeping watch, tonight."

"Oh, I feel all right!" Bob said. "The water was quite warm, and I slipped down and changed my clothes, directly they left off firing."

"Never mind, you turn in as you are told. You have done us good service, tonight; and have earned your keep on board the brig, if you were to stop here till she fell to pieces of old age."

When Bob went up in the morning, at five o'clock, the three Spanish vessels were still lying at anchor under the land, seven or eight miles away.

"There is a breeze coming," Joe said, "and it is from the south, so we shall get it long before they do. We shall see no more of them."

As soon as the breeze reached them, the sails were braced aft; and the brig kept as close to the wind as she would sail, lying almost directly off from the land.

"I want them to think that we are frightened," Captain Lockett said, in answer to a question from Bob as to the course, "and that we have decided to get away from their neighbourhood, altogether. I expect they are only going as far as Alicante. We will run on till we are well out of sight, then hold on for the rest of the day east and, in the night, head for land again, beyond Alicante. It would never do to risk those fellows coming upon us, again, when we are quietly at anchor. We might not be so lucky, next time."

An hour later the lookout in the top hailed the deck, and said that there was a sail in sight.

"What does she look like, Halkett?" Joe Lockett shouted, for the captain was below.

"As far as I can make out she is a two master—I should say, a brig."

"How is she heading?"

"About northeast, sir. I should say, if we both hold on our courses, she will pass ahead of us."

The captain was now on deck, and he and the first mate went up to the top.

"Starboard your helm a bit!" the captain shouted, after examining the distant sail through his telescope. "Keep her about east."

"What do you think she is, captain?" Bob asked, when the two officers came down again to the poop.

"I should say that she was a craft about our own size, Bob; and I fancy she has come through the Straits, keeping well over the other side, so as to avoid our cruisers from Gib; and is now heading for Alicante. Now we are on our course again, parallel to the coast, there is no reason why she should suspect us of being anything but a trader. If she doesn't take the alarm, I hope we shall be alongside her in a few hours."

CHAPTER 11: CUTTING OUT A PRIZE.

The distant sail was anxiously watched from the Antelope. It closed in with them fast, running almost before the wind. In two hours, her hull could be seen from the deck.

Efforts had been made, by slacking the ropes and altering the set of the sails, to give the brig as slovenly an appearance as possible. The guns had been run in and the portholes closed and, as the Spaniard approached, the crew—with the exception of five or six men—were ordered to keep below the bulwarks.

The course that the Spaniard was taking would have brought her just under the stern of the Antelope when, suddenly, she was seen to change her course, and to bear up into the wind.

"Too late, my lady," the captain said; "you have blundered on too long.

"There is something in our cut that she doesn't like. Haul down that Spanish flag, and run the Union Jack up.

"Open ports, lads, and show them our teeth. Fire that bow gun across her forefoot!"

The guns were already loaded; and as soon as they were run out a shot was fired, as a message to the Spaniard to heave to. A minute later, as she paid no attention, a broadside followed. Three of the shots went crashing into the side of the Spaniard, and one of her boats was smashed.

A moment later the Spanish flag fluttered down, and a hearty cheer broke from the crew of the Antelope. The Spaniard was thrown up into the wind and, in a few minutes, the brig ranged up alongside, within pistol shot. The gig was lowered; and the captain rowed alongside her, taking Bob with him as interpreter.

The prize proved to be a brig, of about the same tonnage as the Antelope. She was from Cadiz, bound first to Alicante, and then to Valencia. She carried only six small guns, and a crew of eighteen men. Her cargo consisted of grain and olive oil.

"Not a bad prize," Captain Lockett said, as Bob read out the items of her bill of lading. "It is a pity that it is not full up, instead of only half laden. Still, it is not a bad beginning; and the craft herself is of a handy size and, if she won't sell at Gibraltar, will pay very well to take on to England. I should say she was fast."

An hour later the two brigs parted company, the second mate and twelve hands being placed on board the Spaniard. There was some discussion as to the prisoners, but it was finally agreed to leave them on board their ship.

"Keep them down in the hold, Mr. Crofts. See that you don't leave any knives with them. Keep a couple of sentries over the hatchway. If the wind holds, you will be in the bay by tomorrow evening. Keep pretty well inshore, and slip in as close to the point as you can. If you do that, you need not have much fear of their gunboats.

"I don't suppose the authorities will want to keep the prisoners, but of course you will report them on your arrival; and can give them one of the boats, to land across the bay, if they are not wanted. If the governor wants to buy the cargo for the garrison, let him have it, at once. Don't stand out for exorbitant terms, but take a fair price. It is just as well to be on good terms with the authorities. We might have to put in to refit, and want spars, etc., from the naval yard. If the governor doesn't want the cargo, don't sell it to anyone else till we return. There is no fear of prices going down. The longer we keep it, the more we shall get for it."

"Hadn't I better bring the ship's papers on board with us, Captain Lockett?"

"What for, Bob? I don't see that they would be any use to us, and the bills of lading will be useful for selling the cargo."

"I can copy them, sir, for Mr. Crofts.

"What I thought was this: the brig is just our own size and, if we should get becalmed anywhere near the shore, and a boat put off, we might possibly be able to pass, with her papers."

"That is a capital idea, Bob; capital! I will have a bit of canvas painted 'Alonzo, Cadiz,' in readiness to nail over our stern, should there be any occasion for it.

"Well, goodbye Mr. Crofts, and a safe journey to you. I needn't tell you to keep a sharp lookout."

"You may trust us for that, sir. We have no desire to rot in one of their prisons, till the end of the war."

The captain's gig took him back to the Antelope. The weather sheets of the fore-staysail were eased off, and the square sails swung round. As they drew, the two brigs got under way, heading in exactly opposite directions.

Before nightfall the captain pronounced that they were now abreast of Alicante and, under easy sail, the vessel's head was turned towards the land; and the next morning she was running along the shore, at a distance of three miles. Beyond fishing boats, and small craft hugging the land, nothing was met with, until they neared Cartagena. Then the sound of firing was heard ahead and, on rounding a headland, they saw a vessel of war chasing some five or six craft, nearer inshore.

"That is a British frigate," the captain exclaimed; "but I don't think she will get them. There is Cartagena only three or four miles ahead, and the frigate will not be able to cut them off, before they are under the guns of the batteries."

"They are not above a mile ahead of her," the first mate said. "If we could knock away a spar, with our long eighteen, we might get one of them."

"We shouldn't make much prize money, if we did, Joe; for the frigate would share and, as she has five or six times as many men and officers as we have got, it is not much we should get out of it.

"Hallo!" he broke out, as a shot came ricochetting along the water, "she is trying a shot at us. I forgot we had the Spanish colours up.

"Get that flag down, and run up the Union Jack, Joe."

"One moment, captain," Bob said.

"Well, what is it, Bob?"

"Well, it seems to me, sir, that if we keep the Spanish flag up—"

"We may be sunk," the captain broke in.

"We might, sir, but it is very unlikely, especially if we run in more to the shore; but you see, if we are fired at by the frigate, it will never enter the minds of the Spaniards that we are anything but what we seem and, if we like, we can anchor right under their batteries, in the middle of their craft. It will be dark by the time we get in, and we might take our pick of them."

"That is a splendid idea, Bob!

"This boy is getting too sharp for us, altogether, Joe. He is as full of ideas as a ship's biscuit is of weevils.

"Keep her off, helmsman. That will do."

Again and again the frigate fired, but she was two miles away and, though the shot went skipping over the water near the brig, none of them struck her. The men, unable to understand why they were running the gauntlet of the frigate's fire, looked inquiringly towards the poop.

"It is all right, lads," the captain said. "There is not much fear of the frigate hitting us, and it is worth risking it. The Spaniards on shore will never dream that we are English, and we can bring up in the thick of them."

There was a good deal of laughing and amusement, among the men, as they understood the captain's motive in allowing the brig to be made a target of. As she drew in towards shore the frigate's fire ceased, and her course was changed off shore.

"No nearer," the captain said to the helmsman. "Keep her a little farther off shore.

"There is not much water here, Joe," for a man had been heaving the lead, ever since they had changed their course. "We have not got a fathom under her keel. You see, the frigate did not like to come any closer. She would have cut us off, if there had been deep water right up."

An hour later the brig dropped anchor off Cartagena, at little more than a quarter of a mile from one of the batteries that guarded the entrance to the port, and close to two or three of the craft that had been first chased by the frigate. These, as they were going on in the morning, had not entered the harbour with their consorts; for it was already getting dusk.

"Not much fear of their coming to ask any questions, this evening," Joe Lockett said. "The Spaniards are not given to troubling themselves unnecessarily and, as we are outside the port, we are no one's business in particular."

At this moment a hail came from the vessel anchored ahead of them. Bob went to the bulwark. The brig had swung head to wind, and was broadside on with the other craft.

"You have not suffered from the fire of that accursed ship, I hope?" the captain of the barque shouted.

"No, senor; not a shot struck us."

"You were fortunate. We were hulled twice, and had a man killed by a splinter.

"This is a rough welcome home to us. We have just returned from Lima, and have heard nothing about the war till we anchored off Alicante, yesterday. We heard some firing as we came through the Straits; but thought it was only one of the ships, or forts, practising at a mark. It was lucky we put in at Alicante; or we should have had no suspicion, and should have let that frigate sail up alongside of us, without trying to escape."

"You were fortunate, indeed," Bob shouted back "We had, ourselves, a narrow escape of being captured by a ship of war, near Malaga. The Alonzo is only from Cadiz, with grain and olive oil."

"Do you think there is any fear of that rascally Englishman trying to cut us out with his boats, tonight?"

"Not the slightest," Bob replied, confidently. "They would never venture on that. Those batteries on shore would blow them out of the water, and they would know very well they would not have a shadow of chance of taking us out for, even if they captured us, the batteries would send us to the bottom, in no time. Oh, no! you are perfectly safe from the frigate, here."

The Spanish captain raised his hat. Bob did the same, and both left the side of their ships.

"Well, what does he say, Bob?" the captain asked.

"I think you are in luck this time, captain, and no mistake."

"How is that, Bob?"

"She is from Lima."

"You don't say so!" the captain and Joe exclaimed, simultaneously. "Then she is something like a prize. She has got hides, no doubt; but the chances are she has a lot of lead, too, and maybe some silver.

"Ah! He is getting one of his boats in the water. I hope he is not coming off here.

"If he does, Joe, Bob must meet him at the gangway, and take him into the cabin. As he comes in, you and I will catch him by the throat, gag, and bind him; and then Bob must go and tell the men to return to their ship, that the captain is going to spend the evening with us, and that we will take him back in our boat."

"That would be the best thing that could happen," Joe said, "for in that way we could get alongside, without suspicion."

"So we could, Joe. I didn't think of that. Yes, I hope he is coming, now."

They saw, however, the boat row to a large polacre lying next to the Spaniard, on the other side. It remained there two or three minutes, and then rowed away towards the mouth of the harbour.

"Going to spend the evening on shore," the captain observed. "I am not surprised at that. It is likely enough they have been six months on their voyage from Lima. It is unlucky, though; I wish he had come here.

"Well, Bob, as you have got the best head among us, what scheme do you suggest for our getting on board that craft?"

"I think we could carry out Joe's idea, though in a different way," Bob said. "I should say we had better get a boat out; and put, say, twenty men on board. It is getting dark, but they might all lie down in the bottom, except six oarsmen. Then we should pull in towards the mouth of the harbour, just as they have done, and lay up somewhere under the rocks for a couple of hours; then row off again, and make for the barque. Of course, they would think it was the captain returning.

"Then ten of the men should spring on board, and they ought to be able to silence any men on deck before they could give the alarm. Directly the ten men got out, the boat would row across to the polacre; as there is no doubt her captain went ashore with the other. They would take her in the same way."

"You ought to be made Lord High Admiral of the Fleet, Bob! That will succeed, if anything will; only we must be sure to put off again before the Spaniards do.

"Well, Joe, you had better take charge of this expedition. You see, however quietly it is done, there is almost sure to be some shouting; and they will take the alarm at the batteries and, when they make out three of us suddenly getting up sail, they will be pretty certain that something is wrong, and will open fire on us. That, of course, we must risk; but the thing to be really afraid of is their gunboats. They are sure to have a couple of them in the port. They may be some little time in getting out, but they will come out."

The wind has died away, now, but the land breeze is just springing up; but we shall hardly get off before the gunboats can come to us. They row a lot of oars, you know. You must clap on all sail, on the prizes; and I shall hang behind a bit, and tackle the gunboats. You will see what guns there are on board the prizes; and may, perhaps, be able to lend me a hand; but that you will see. Of course you will take Bob with you, to answer the hails from the two Spaniards.

"Be careful when you bring up ashore. Let the men row very gently, after they once get away, so as not to attract any attention. Let them take cutlasses, but no pistols. If a shot were fired the batteries would be sure, at once, there was some mischief going on. A little shouting won't matter so much; it might be merely a quarrel. Of course, the instant you are on board you will cut the cables, and get up sail.

"You will remain on board the barque, Joe. Bob will have command of the party that attack the polacre. You had better take the jolly boat, and pick out twenty active fellows. Tell them to leave their shoes behind them; the less trampling and noise there is, the better. Tell them not to use their cutlasses, unless driven to it. There are not likely to be above four or five men on deck. They ought to be able to knock them down, and bind them, almost before they know what has happened."

In a few minutes the boat was lowered, and manned, and rowed away for the shore. As soon as they got well past the ships, the men were ordered to row as quietly and noiselessly as possible. Joe had brought with him six strips of canvas; and handed these to the men, and told them to wrap them round the oars, so as to muffle them in the rowlocks.

This was done, and the boat glided along silently. Keeping in the middle of the channel, they passed through the passage between the shore and the rocky island that protects the harbour; and then, sweeping round, stole up behind the latter and lay to, close to the rocks.

"So far, so good," Joe said, in a low voice. "I don't think the sharpest eyes could have seen us. Now the question is, how long to wait here. The longer we wait, the more of the Spaniards will have turned into their bunks but, upon the other hand, there is no saying how long the captains will remain on shore.

"There is a heavy dew falling, and that will help to send the sailors below. I should think an hour would be about the right time. The Dons are not likely to be off again, before that. It is some distance up the harbour to the landing place, and they would hardly have taken the trouble to go ashore, unless they meant to stay a couple of hours.

"What time is it now, Bob?"

Bob opened his watch case, and felt the hands.

"It is just a quarter past nine."

"Well, we will move at ten," Joe said.

The three-quarters of an hour passed very slowly, and Bob consulted his watch several times, before the minute hand got to twelve.

"Ten o'clock," he said, at last.

The oars had not been got in, so the boat glided off again, noiselessly, out through the entrance. There were lights burning at the sterns of the two Spanish ships, as a guide to the boat coming off and, when the boat had traversed half the distance, Joe ordered the oars to be unmuffled, and they rowed straight for the barque. There was no hail at their approach, but a man appeared at the top of the ladder.

As the boat came alongside, ten of the men rose noiselessly from the bottom of the boat, and followed the first mate up the ladder. As he reached the top, Joe sprang on the Spanish sailor, and seized him by the throat. The two sailors following thrust a gag into the man's mouth, bound his arms, and laid him down.

This was effected without the slightest noise. The other sailors had, by this time, clambered up from the boat and scattered over the deck. A group of seven or eight Spaniards were seated on the deck, forward; smoking by the light of a lantern, which hung above the fo'castle. They did not notice the approach of the sailors, with their naked feet; and the latter sprang upon them, threw them down, bound, and gagged them, without a sound—save a few short exclamations of surprise being uttered.

Three or four of the sailors now coiled a rope against the fo'castle door, to prevent its being opened. In the meantime Joe, with two men, entered the cabin aft, where they found the two Spanish mates playing at cards. The sudden apparition of three men, with drawn cutlasses, took them so completely by surprise that they were captured without any attempt at resistance; and were, like the rest, bound and gagged.

"You take the helm, Halkett," Joe said, and then hurried forward.

"Have you got them all?" he asked, as he reached the fo'castle.

"Every man Jack," one of the sailors said.

"Is there nobody on watch in the bows?"

"No, sir, not a man."

"Very well. Now then, to work.

"Cut the cable, Thompson.

"The rest of you, let fall the sails."

As these had only been loosely furled, when the vessel came to anchor, this was done in a very short time; and the vessel began to move through the water before the light breeze, which was dead aft.

The capture of the polacre had not been effected so silently. Bob had allowed the boatswain, who accompanied him, to mount the ladder first; but the man at the top of the gangway had a lantern and, as its light fell upon the sailor's face, he uttered an exclamation of surprise; which called the attention of those on deck and, as the sailors swarmed up the ladder, shouts of alarm were raised. But the Spaniards could not withstand the rush of the English, who beat them to the deck before they had time to seize their arms.

The noise, however, alarmed the watch below; who were just pouring up from the hatchway when they were attacked by the sailors with drawn cutlasses, and were speedily beaten below, and the hatches secured over them. Bob had posted himself, with two of the men, at the cabin door; and as the officers rushed out, on hearing the noise, they were knocked down and secured. As soon as this was effected, Bob looked round over the side.

"Hurrah!" he said, "the barque is under way already. Get the sails on her, lads, and cut the cable."

While this was being done Bob mounted the poop, placed one of the sailors at the helm, and then turned his eyes towards the battery, astern. He heard shouts, and had no doubt that the sound of the scuffle had been heard. Then lights appeared in several of the casements and, just as the sails were sheeted home, and the polacre began to move through the water, a rocket whizzed up from the battery, and burst overhead. By its light Bob saw the Antelope and the Spanish barque, two or three hundred yards ahead; with their crews getting up all sail, rapidly.

A minute later, twelve heavy guns flashed out astern, one after another. They were pointed too high, and the shot flew overhead, one or two passing through the sails. The boatswain's voice was heard, shouting:

"Never mind the shot, lads! Look alive! Now then, up with those topgallant sails! The quicker you get them up, the quicker we shall be out of range!"

Another battery, higher up, now opened fire; but the shot did not come near them. Then rocket after rocket was sent up, and the battery astern again fired. One of the shot cut away the main-topsail yard; another struck the deck abreast of the foremast, and then tore through the bulwarks; but the polacre was now making good way. They felt the wind more, as they got farther from the shore; and had decreased their distance from the craft ahead.

The boatswain now joined Bob upon the poop.

"We have got everything set that will draw, now," he said. "She is walking along well. Another ten minutes and we shall be safe, if they don't knock away a spar.

"She is a fast craft, Mr. Repton. She is overhauling the other two, hand over hand."

"We had better bear away a bit, boatswain. The captain said we were to scatter as much as we could, so as to divide their fire."

"All right, sir!" and the boatswain gave the orders to the helmsman, and slightly altered the trim of the sails.

"I suppose we can do nothing with that broken yard, boatswain?"

"No, sir; and it don't matter much, going pretty nearly before the wind, as we are. The sails on the foremast draw all the better, so it don't make much difference.

"Look out, below!" he shouted, as there was a crash above; and the mizzenmast was cut in sunder, by a shot that struck it just above the topsail blocks; and the upper part came toppling down, striking the bulwark and falling overboard.

"Lay aft, lads, and out knives!" the boatswain shouted. "Cut away the wreck!

"It is lucky it wasn't two feet lower," he said to Bob, "or it would have brought the topsail down; and that would have been a serious loss, now the main-topsail is of no use."

He sprang to assist the men, when a round shot struck him, and almost carried off his head. Bob caught at the knife that fell from his hand, and set to work with the men.

"That is it, lads, cut away!" he shouted. "We sha'n't have many more of them on board. We are a good mile away, now."

Just as the work of getting rid of the wreck was accomplished, one of the men said, as a rocket burst overhead:

"There are two of their gunboats coming out of the harbour, sir."

"We had better close with the others, then," Bob said. "The brig will engage them, when they come up. We shall be well beyond reach of the batteries, before they do.

"Now, lads, see what guns she carries. Break open the magazine, and get powder and ball up. We must lend the captain a hand, if we can."

The polacre mounted eight guns, all 14 pounders; and in a few minutes these were loaded. The batteries continued to fire; but their shooting was no longer accurate and, in another ten minutes, ceased altogether. The craft had now closed to within hailing distance of the brig.

"Hallo, the polacre!" Captain Lockett shouted. "What damages?"

"The boatswain is killed, sir," Bob shouted back, "and we have lost two spars but, in spite of that, I think we are sailing as fast as you."

"What guns have you got?"

"Eight fourteen-pounders, sir. We are loaded and ready."

"Keep a little ahead of me," the captain shouted. "I am going to shorten sail a bit. We have got to fight those gunboats."

As he spoke, a heavy gun boomed out from the bow of one of the gunboats, and the shot went skipping between the two vessels. Directly after, the other gunboat fired, and the shot struck the quarter of the brig. Then there was a creaking of blocks as the sheets were hauled upon and, as the yards swung round, she came up into the wind, and a broadside was fired at the two gunboats. Then the helm was put down, and she payed off before the wind again.

The gunboats ceased rowing, for a minute. The discharge had staggered them, for they had not given the brig credit for carrying such heavy metal.

Then they began to row again. The swivel gun of the brig kept up a steady fire on them. Two of the guns of the polacre had been, by this time, shifted to the stern; and these opened fire, while the first mate's crew on board the barque were also at work. A fortunate shot smashed many of the oars of one of the gunboats and, while she stopped rowing in disorder, the brig was again rounded to and opened a steady fire, with her broadside guns, upon them.

As the gunboats were now little more than a quarter of a mile away, the effect of the brig's fire, aided by that of the two prizes, was very severe and, in a short time, the Spaniards put round and rowed towards the shore; while a hearty cheer broke from the brig, and her prizes.

There had been no more casualties on board the polacre, the fire of the gunboats having been directed entirely upon the brig; as the Spaniards knew that, if they could but destroy or capture her, they would be able to recover the prizes. The polacre was soon brought close alongside of the brig.

"Have you suffered much, Captain Lockett?"

"I am sorry to say we have had six men killed, and five wounded. We have got a dozen shot in our stern. They were evidently trying to damage the rudder but, beyond knocking the cabin fittings to pieces, there is no more harm done than the carpenter can repair, in a few hours' work.

"You have not been hit again, have you?"

"No, sir; none of their shots came near."

"Well, examine the papers, and have a talk with the officers you made prisoners, and then come on board to report. I shall want you to go on board the barque with me, and see what she is laden with."

Bob went below. The two Spanish mates were unbound.

"I am sorry, senors," Bob said, "that we were obliged to treat you rather roughly; but you see, we were in a hurry, and there was no time for explanations. I shall be obliged if you will show me which is the captain's cabin, and hand me over the ship's papers and manifesto. What is her name?"

"The Braganza."

"Where are you from? And what do you carry?"

"We are from Cadiz, and are laden principally with wine. We were bound for Barcelona.

"You took us in nicely, senor. Who could have dreamt that you were English, when that frigate chased you under the guns of the battery?"

"She thought we were Spanish, as you did," Bob said.

By this time the other Spaniard had brought the papers out of the captain's cabin. Bob ran his eye down over the bill of lading, and was well satisfied with the result. She contained a very large consignment of wine.

"I am going on board the brig," he said, as he put the papers together. "I must ask you to give me your parole not to leave the cabin, until I return. I do not know whether my captain wishes you to remain here, or will transfer you to his own craft."

"Well, Master Bob, what is your prize?" the captain asked.

"It is a valuable one, sir. The polacre herself is, as I see by her papers, only two years old, and seems a fine craft. She is laden with wine, from Cadiz, to Barcelona."

"Capital, Bob; we are in luck, indeed! How many prisoners have you got?"

"The crew is put down at eighteen, sir; and there are the two mates."

"You had better send them on board here, presently. Where are they now?"

"They are in the cabin, captain. They gave me their promise not to leave it, till I return; but I put a man on sentry, outside, so as to make sure of them."

"Well, perhaps you had better go back again now; and we will shape our course for Gibraltar, at once. All this firing would have attracted the attention of any Spanish war vessel there might be about. We must leave the barque's manifesto till the morning.

"As you have lost the boatswain, I will send one of my best hands back with you, to act as your first mate. He must get that topsail yard of yours repaired, at once. It does not matter about the mizzenmast, but the yard is of importance. We may meet with Spanish cruisers, outside the Rock, and may have to show our heels."

"Yes, I shall be glad of a good man, captain. You see, I know nothing about it, and don't like giving any orders. It was all very well getting on board, and knocking down the crew; but when it comes to sailing her, it is perfectly ridiculous my giving orders, when the men know that I don't know anything about it."

"The men know you have plenty of pluck, Bob; and they know that it was entirely due to your swimming off to that Spanish ship that we escaped being captured, before; and they will obey you willingly, as far as you can give them orders. Still, of course, you do want somebody with you, to give orders as to the setting and taking in of the sails."

As soon as the last gun had been fired, the three vessels had been laid head to wind but, when Bob's boat reached the side of the polacre, they were again put on their course and headed southwest, keeping within a short distance of each other.

Bob's new first mate, an old sailor named Brown, at once set the crew to work to get up a fresh spar, in place of the broken yard. The men all worked with a will. They were in high spirits at the captures they had made; and the news which Brown gave them, that the polacre was laden with wine, assured to each of them a substantial sum in prize money.

Before morning the yard was in its place and the sail set and, except for the shortened mizzen, and a ragged hole through the bulwark, forward, the polacre showed no signs of the engagement of the evening before. Two or three men were slung over the stern of the brig; plugs had been driven through the shot holes and, over these, patches of canvas were nailed, and painted black.

Nothing, however, could be done with the sails, which were completely riddled with holes. The crew were set to work to shift some of the worst; cutting them away from the yards, and getting up spare sails from below. Bob had put a man on the lookout, to give him notice if any signal was made to him from the brig; which was a quarter of a mile ahead of him, the polacre's topgallant sails having been lowered after the main-topsail had been hoisted, as it was found that, with all sail set, she sailed considerably faster than the brig.

Presently the man came aft, and reported that the captain was waving his hat from the taffrail.

"We had better get up the main-topgallant sail, Brown, and run up to her," Bob said.

The sail was soon hoisted and, in a quarter of an hour, they were alongside the brig.

"That craft sails like a witch," Captain Lockett said, as they came abreast of him.

"Yes, sir, she seems very fast."

"It is a pity she is rigged as she is," the captain said. "It is an outlandish fashion. If she were barque rigged, I should be tempted to shift on board her.

"We will leave the barque alone, at present, Mr. Repton. Our curiosity must keep a bit. I don't want to lose any of this breeze. We will keep right on, as long as it lasts. If it drops, we will overhaul her."

The barque was the slowest craft of the three, and Joe Lockett had every stitch of canvas set, to enable him to keep up with the others. At noon, a large craft was seen, coming off from the land. Bob examined her with the telescope, and then handed the glass to Brown.

"She is a frigate," the sailor said. "It's the same that blazed away at us, yesterday. It's the Brilliant, I think."

"You are sure she is the same that chased us, yesterday?"

"Quite sure."

Captain Lockett was evidently of the same opinion, as no change was made in the course he was steering.

"We may as well speak the captain again," Bob said, and the polacre closed again with the brig.

"Brown says that is the same frigate that fired at us, yesterday, Captain Lockett," Bob said, when they were within hailing distance.

"Yes, there is no doubt about that. I don't want to lose time, or I would stand out and try our speed with her."

"Why, sir?"

"Because I am afraid she will want to take some of our hands. Those frigates are always short of hands. Still, she may not, as we have got twelve men already away in a prize, and ten in each of these craft."

"I don't think you need be uneasy, sir. I know the captain of the Brilliant, and all the officers. If you like, I will keep the polacre on that side, so that they will come up to us first; and will go on board, and speak to the captain. I don't think, then, he would interfere with us."

"Very well, Mr. Repton; we will arrange it so."

The polacre had now taken its place to leeward of the other two vessels, and they held on in that order until the frigate was within half a mile; when she fired a gun across their bows, as signal for them to heave to. The brig was now flying the British colours; her prizes the British colours, with the Spanish underneath them. At the order to heave to, they were all thrown up into the wind.

The frigate reduced her sail as she came up and, as she neared the polacre, the order was shouted:

"Send a boat alongside!"

The boat was already prepared for lowering. Four seamen got into her, and rowed Bob alongside the frigate. The first person he encountered, as he stepped on to the deck, was Jim Sankey; who stared at him in astonishment.

"Hullo, Bob! What in the world are you doing here?"

"I am in command of that polacre, Mr. Sankey," Bob replied.

"Eh—what?" Jim stammered, in astonishment; when the captain's voice from the quarterdeck came sharply down:

"Now, Mr. Sankey, what are you waiting for? Bring that gentleman here."

Jim led the way up to the poop.

Bob saluted.

"Good morning, Captain Langton."

"Why, it's Repton!" the captain exclaimed, in surprise. "Why, where do you spring from, and what craft are these?"

"I am in command, at present, sir, of the polacre; which, with the barque, is a prize of the brig the Antelope, privateer."

"But what are you doing on board, Repton? And how is it that you are in command?"

"Well, sir, I was out on a cruise in the Antelope. The second mate was sent, with a prize crew, back to Gibraltar, in a craft we picked up off Malaga. We cut out the other two prizes from under the guns of Cartagena. The first mate was in command of the party that captured the barque and, as there was no one else to send, the captain put me in command of the party that captured the polacre."

"But how on earth did you manage it?" the captain asked. "I see the brig has been cut up a good deal, about the sails and rigging. You don't mean to say that she sailed right into Cartagena? Why, they would have blown her out of the water!"

"We didn't go in, sir. We anchored outside the port. We were not suspected, because one of His Majesty's frigates fired at us, as we were going in; and the consequence was the Dons never suspected that we were anything but a Spanish trader."

"Why, you don't mean to say," the captain exclaimed, "that this was the brig, flying Spanish colours, which we chased in under the guns of Cartagena, yesterday?"

"It is, sir," Bob said, smiling. "You did us a very good turn, although your intentions were not friendly. We were under Spanish colours, when you made us out; and it struck us that running the gauntlet of your fire, for a little while, would be an excellent introduction for us to the Spaniards.

"So it proved. We brought up close to those other two vessels, and I had a talk with the captain of one of them. The two captains both went ashore, after dark; so we put twenty men into a boat, and rowed in to the mouth of the port; waited there for a bit, and then rowed straight out to the ships. They thought, of course, it was their own officers returning; so we took them by surprise, and captured them pretty easily.

"Unfortunately there was some noise made, and they took the alarm on shore. However, we were under way before the batteries opened. It was rather unpleasant, for a bit, but we got safely out. Two gunboats came out after us; but the brig beat them off, and we helped as well as we could. The brig had five men killed, we had one, and there are several wounded."

"Well, it was a very dashing affair," the captain said; "very creditable, indeed. I hope you will get a share of the prize money."

"I only count as a hand," Bob said, laughing; "and I am sure that is as much as I deserve.

"But here comes the captain, sir. He will tell you more about it."

Captain Lockett now came on board; and Bob, seeing that he was not farther required, went off with Jim down to the cockpit. The captain had a long talk with Captain Lockett. When the latter had related, in full, the circumstances of his capture of his two prizes, he said:

"There is a Spanish ship of war, sir, somewhere off Alicante, at present. She is got up as a merchantman, and took us in thoroughly; and we should probably have been caught, if it had not been for Mr. Repton," and he then related how Bob had swum on board, and discovered the supposed merchantman to be a ship of war.

"Thank you, Captain Lockett. I will go in and have a look after her. It is fortunate that you told me for, if I had seen her lying at anchor, under the land, I might have sent some boats in to cut her out; and might, as you nearly did, have caught a tartar.

"He is an uncommonly sharp young fellow, that Repton. I offered him a midshipman's berth here, when I first came out, but he refused it. By what you say, he must be a good officer lost to the service."

"He would have made a good officer, sir; he has his wits about him so thoroughly. It was his doing, our keeping the Spanish flag flying when you came upon us. I had ordered the colours to be run down, when he suggested our keeping them up, and running boldly in to Cartagena."

"I suppose you can't spare us a few hands, Captain Lockett?"

"Well, sir, I shall be very short, as it is. You see, I have a score away in a prize, I have had six killed, and some of the wounded won't be fit for work, for some time; and I mean to take these two prizes back with me, to England. They are both valuable, and I should not get anything like a fair price for them, at Gibraltar. I don't want to run the risk of their being picked up by privateers, on the way back, so I shall convoy them; and I certainly sha'n't have a man too many to fight my guns, when I have put crews on board them."

"No, I suppose not," the captain said. "Well, I must do without them, then.

"Now, as I suppose you want to be on your way, I will not detain you any longer."

Bob was sent for.

"Captain Lockett has been telling me that you were the means of preventing his getting into a nasty scrape, with that Spanish man-of-war, Mr. Repton. I consider there is great credit due to you. It is a pity you didn't come on to my quarterdeck."

"I should not have got the chances then, sir," Bob said.

"Well, no, I don't know that you would, lad; there is something in that.

"Well, goodbye. I shall write and tell the admiral all about it. I know he will be glad to hear of your doings."

A few minutes later, the privateer and her prizes were on their way towards Gibraltar; while the frigate was standing inshore again, to search for the Spanish ship of war.

CHAPTER 12: A RICH PRIZE.

In the evening the wind died away, and the three vessels were becalmed. Captain Lockett rowed to the polacre, and examined his prize; and then, taking Bob in his boat, rowed to the barque.

"Well, Joe, have you made out what you have got on board?" the captain said, when he reached the deck.

"No, sir. Neither of the officers can speak a word of English. I have opened the hatches, and she is chock-full of hides; but what there is, underneath, I don't know."

"Come along, Bob, we will overhaul the papers," the captain said and, going to the cabin, they examined the bill of lading.

"Here it is, sir," Bob said, triumphantly. "Two hundred tons of lead."

"Splendid!" the captain exclaimed. "That is a prize worth having. Of course, that is stowed away at the bottom; and then she is filled up with hides, and they are worth a lot of money—but the lead, alone, is worth six thousand pounds, at twenty pounds per ton.

"Is there anything else, Bob?"

"Yes, sir. There are fifty boxes. It doesn't say what is in them."

"You don't say so, Bob! Perhaps it is silver. Let us ask the officers."

The Spanish first mate was called down.

"Where are these boxes?" Bob asked, "and what do they contain?"

"They are full of silver," the man said, sullenly. "They are stowed in the lazaretto, under this cabin."

"We will have one of them up, and look into it," the captain said.

"Joe, call a couple of hands down."

The trapdoor of the lazaretto was lifted. Joe and the two sailors descended the ladder and, with some difficulty, one of the boxes was hoisted up.

"That weighs over two hundredweight, I'm sure," Joe said.

The box was broken open, and it was found to be filled with small bars of silver.

"Are they all the same size, Joe?" the captain asked.

"Yes, as far as I can see."

The captain took out his pocketbook, and made a rapid calculation.

"Then they are worth between thirty-two and thirty-three thousand pounds, Joe.

"Why, lad, she is worth forty thousand pounds, without the hides or the hull. That is something like a capture," and the two men shook hands, warmly.

"The best thing to do, Joe, will be to divide these boxes between the three ships; then, even if one of them gets picked up by the Spaniards or French, we shall still be in clover."

"I think that would be a good plan," Joe agreed.

"We will do it at once. There is nothing like making matters safe. Just get into the boat alongside, and row to the brig; and tell them to lower the jolly boat and send it alongside. We will get some of the boxes up, by the time you are back."

In an hour the silver was divided between the three ships; and the delight of the sailors was great, when they heard how valuable had been the capture.

"How do you divide?" Bob asked Captain Lockett, as they were watching the boxes lowered into the boat.

"The ship takes half," he said. "Of the other half I take twelve shares, Joe eight, the second mate six, the boatswain three, and the fifty hands one share each. So you may say there are eighty shares and, if the half of the prize is worth twenty thousand pounds, each man's share will be two hundred and fifty.

"It will be worth having, Bob; though it is a great shame you should not rate as an officer."

"I don't want the money," Bob laughed. "I should have no use for it, if I had it. My uncle has taken me in hand, and I am provided for."

"Yes, I understand that," the captain said. "If it were not so, I should have proposed to the crew that they should agree to your sharing the same as the second officer. I am sure they would have agreed, willingly; seeing that it is due to you that we were not captured, ourselves, in the first place; and entirely to your suggestion, that we should keep the Spanish flag flying and run into Cartagena, that we owe the capture of the prizes."

"Oh, I would much rather not, captain. I only came for a cruise, and it has been a splendid one; and it seems to be quite absurd that I should be getting anything at all. Still, it will be jolly, because I shall be able to make Carrie and Gerald nice presents, with my own money; and to send some home to Mr. Medlin and his family, and something to uncle, too, if I can think of anything he would like."

"Yes, it is all very well, Bob, for you; but I feel that it is not fair. However, as you really don't want the money, and are well satisfied, we will say nothing more about it, now."

The ships lay becalmed all night, but a brisk breeze from the east sprang up in the morning and, at noon, the Rock was visible in the distance. They held on for four hours; and then lay to, till after midnight. After that sail was again made and, soon after daybreak, they passed Europa Point, without having been seen by any of the Spanish cruisers. They were greeted by a hearty cheer from the vessels anchored near the new Mole, as they brought up amongst them with the British flags flying, above the Spanish, on board the prizes.

As soon as the morning gun was fired, and the gates opened, Bob landed and hurried up to his sister's. She and her husband were just partaking of their early coffee.

"Hallo, Bob!" Captain O'Halloran exclaimed. "What, back again? Why, I didn't expect you for another fortnight. You must have managed very badly, to have brought your cruise to an end, so soon."

"Well, I am very glad you are back, Bob," his sister said. "I have been fidgetting about you, ever since you were away."

"I am as glad to see you as your sister can be," Gerald put in. "If she has fidgetted, when you had only gone a week; you can imagine what I should have to bear, before the end of a month. I should have had to move into barracks. Life would have been insupportable, here."

"I am sure I have said very little about it, Gerald," his wife said, indignantly.

"No, Carrie, you have not said much, but your aspect has been generally tragic. You have taken but slight interest in your fowls, and there has been a marked deterioration in the meals. My remarks have been frequently unanswered; and you have got into a Sister Anne sort of way of going upon the roof, and staring out to sea.

"Your sister is a most estimable woman, Bob—I am the last person who would deny it—but I must admit that she has been a little trying, during the last week."

Carrie laughed.

"Well, it is only paying you back a little, in your own coin, Gerald.

"But what has brought you back so soon, Bob? We heard of you, three days ago; for Gerald went on board a brig that was brought in, as he heard that it was a prize of the Antelope's; and the officer told him about your cruise, up to when he had left you."

"Well, there wasn't much to tell, up till then," Bob said, "except that I was well, and my appetite was good. But there has been a good lot, since. We have come in with two more good prizes, this morning, and the brig is going to convoy them back to England."

"Oh, that is all right," Carrie said in a tone of pleasure.

So far, she had been afraid that Bob's return was only a temporary one; and that he might be setting out again, in a day or two.

"Well, let us hear all about it, Bob," her husband said. "I could see Carrie was on thorns, lest you were going off again. Now that she is satisfied, she may be able to listen to you, comfortably."

"Well, we really had some adventures, Gerald. We had a narrow escape from being captured by a Spanish ship of war, ever so much stronger than we were. She was got up as a merchantman, and regularly took us in. We anchored close to her, intending to board her in the dark. I thought I would swim off and reconnoitre a bit, before we attacked her; and, of course, I saw at once what she was, and we cut our cable, and were towed out in the dark. She fired away at us, but didn't do us any damage.

"The next day, late in the afternoon, we came upon the Brilliant chasing some Spanish craft into Cartagena and, as we had Spanish colours up, she took us for one of them, and blazed away at us."

"But why didn't you pull down the Spanish colours, at once, Bob? I never heard of anything so silly," Carrie said, indignantly.

"Well, you see, Carrie, they were some distance off, and weren't likely to damage us much; and we ran straight in, and anchored with the rest under the guns of the battery, outside Cartagena. Seeing us fired at, of course, they never suspected we were English. Then, at night, we captured the two vessels lying next to us, and put out to sea. The batteries blazed away at us, and it was not very pleasant till we got outside their range. They did not do us very much damage. Two gunboats came out after us, but the brig beat them back, and we helped."

"Who were we?" Captain O'Halloran asked.

"We were the prizes, of course. I was in command of one."

"Hooray, Bob!" Gerald exclaimed, with a great laugh, while Carrie uttered an exclamation of horror.

"Well, you see, the second mate had been sent off in the first prize, and there was only Joe Lockett and me; so he took the biggest of the two ships we cut out, and the captain put me in command of the men that took the other. I had the boatswain with me and, of course, he was the man who really commanded, in getting up the sails and all that sort of thing. He was killed by a shot from the battery, and was the only man hit on our vessel; but there were five killed, on board the brig, in the fight with the gunboats.

"We fell in with the Brilliant, on the way back, and I went on board; and you should have seen how Jim Sankey opened his eyes, when I said that I was in command of the prize. They are awfully good prizes, too, I can tell you. The one I got is laden with wine; and the big one was a barque from Lima, with hides, and two hundred tons of lead, and fifty boxes of silver—about thirty-three thousand pounds' worth.

"Just think of that! The captain said she was worth, altogether, at least forty thousand pounds. That is something like a prize, isn't it?"

"Yes, that is.

"What do you think, Carrie? I propose that I sell my commission, raise as much as I can on the old place in Ireland, and fit out a privateer. Bob will, of course, be captain; you shall be first mate; and I will be content with second mate's berth; and we will sail the salt ocean, and pick up our forty-thousand-pound prizes."

"Oh, what nonsense you do talk, to be sure, Gerald! Just when Bob's news is so interesting, too."

"I have told all my news, Carrie. Now I want to hear yours. The Spaniards haven't began to batter down the Rock, yet?"

"We have been very quiet, Bob. On the 11th a great convoy, of about sixty sail—protected by five xebecs, of from twenty to thirty guns each—came along. They must have come out from Malaga, the very night you passed there. They were taking supplies, for the use of the Spanish fleet; and the privateers captured three or four small craft; and the Panther, the Enterprise, and the Childers were kept at their anchor, all day. Why, no one but the admiral could say. We were all very much disappointed, for everyone expected to see pretty nearly all the Spanish vessels brought in."

"Yes," Captain O'Halloran said, "it has caused a deal of talk, I can tell you. The navy were furious. There they were, sixty vessels, all laden with the very things we wanted; pretty well becalmed, not more than a mile off Europa Point, with our batteries banging away at them; and nothing in the world to hinder the Panther, and the frigates, from fetching them all in. Half the town were out on the hill, and every soul who could get off duty at the Point; and there was the admiral, wasting the whole mortal day in trying to make up his mind. If you had heard the bad language that was used in relation to that old gentleman, it would have made your hair stand on end.

"Of course, just as it got dark the ships of war started; and equally, of course, the convoy all got away in the dark, except six bits of prizes, which were brought in in the morning. We have heard, since, that it was on purpose to protect this valuable fleet that the Spanish squadron arrived, before you went away; but as it didn't turn up, the squadron went off again, and we had nothing to do but just to pick it up."

After breakfast, Captain O'Halloran went off with Bob to the Antelope. He found all hands busy, bending on sails in place of those that had been damaged, taking those of the brig first captured for the purpose.

"They fit very well," Joe Lockett said, "and we have not time to lose. We sail again, this afternoon. The captain says there is nothing to prevent our going out, now; and as the Spanish squadron may be back any day, we might have to run the gauntlet to get out, if we lost the present chance. So he is not going to waste an hour.

"Crofts has already sold the grain, and discharged it. The hull is worth but little; and the captain has sold her, as she stands, to a trader for two hundred pounds. I expect he has bought her to break up for firewood, if the siege goes on. If it doesn't, he will sell her again, afterwards, at a good profit. Of course, it is a ridiculous price; but the captain wanted to get her off his hands, and would have taken a ten pound note, rather than be bothered with her.

"So by tonight we shall be across at Ceuta and, if the wind holds east but another day, we shall be through the Straits on our way home.

"They are going to shift two of our 18 pounders on board the barque, and I am going to command her, and to have fifteen men on board. Crofts commands the poleacre, with ten men. The rest, of course, go in the brig. We shall keep together, and steer well out west into the Atlantic, so as to give as wide a berth as possible to Spaniards and Frenchmen. If we meet with a privateer, we ought to be able to give a good account of him; if we run across a frigate, we shall scatter; and it will be hard luck if we don't manage to get two out of the three craft into port.

"We have been shifting some more of the silver again, this morning, from the barque into the other two vessels; otherwise, as she has the lead on board, she would be the most valuable prize. As it is now, the three are of about equal value."

"Well, we wish you a pleasant voyage," Captain O'Halloran said. "I suppose we shall see you back here again, before long."

"Yes, I should think so; but I don't know what the captain means to do. We have had no time to talk, this morning. I daresay you will meet him, on shore; he has gone to the post office, to get his papers signed. We have been quite pestered, this morning, by men coming on board to buy wine out of the polacre; but the captain wouldn't have the hatches taken off. The Spaniards may turn up, at any moment; and it is of the greatest importance our getting off, while the coast is clear. It is most unfortunate, now, that we did not run straight in, yesterday; instead of laying to, to wait for night."

They did not meet the captain in the town and, from the roof, Bob saw the three vessels get up sail, early in the afternoon, and make across for the African coast.

The doctor came in, in the evening.

"Well, Bob, so I hear you have been fighting, and commanding ships, and doing all sorts of things. I saw Captain Lockett in the town and, faith, if you had been a dozen admirals, rolled into one, he couldn't have spoken more highly of you.

"It seems, Mrs. O'Halloran, that Bob has been the special angel who has looked after poor Jack, on board the Antelope."

"What ridiculous nonsense, doctor!" Bob exclaimed, hotly.

"Not at all, Bob; it is too modest you are, entirely. It is yourself is the boy who has done the business, this time; and it is a silver tay service, or some such trifle as that, that the owners will be sending you, and small blame to them. Captain Lockett tells me he owns a third of the ship; and he reckons the ship's share of what they have taken, this little cruise, won't be less than five-and-twenty thousand.

"Think of that, Mrs. O'Halloran, five-and-twenty thousand pounds! And here is Edward Burke, M.D., working his sowl out, for a miserable eight or ten shillings a day."

"But what has Bob done?"

"I hadn't time to learn it all, Mrs. O'Halloran, for the captain was in a hurry. It seems to me that the question ought to be, what is it that he hasn't done?

"It all came in a heap, together, and I am not sure of the exact particulars; but it seems to me that he swam out and cut the cable of a Spanish sloop of war, and took the end in his mouth and towed her out to sea, while the guns were blazing in all directions at him. Never was such an affair!

"Then he humbugged the captain of an English frigate, and the commander of the Spanish forts, and stole a vessel chock full of silver; and did I don't know what, besides."

Bob went off into a shout of laughter, in which the others joined.

"But what is the meaning of all this nonsense, Teddy?" Carrie asked, as soon as she recovered her composure. "Is there anything in it, or is it all pure invention?"

"Is there anything in it? Haven't I been telling you that there is twenty-five thousand pounds in it, to the owners, and as much more to the crew; and didn't the captain vow and declare that, if it hadn't been for Bob, instead of going home to divide all this treasure up between them, every man Jack of them would be, at this moment, chained by the leg in a dirty Spanish prison, at Malaga!"

"Well, what does it all mean, Bob? There is no getting any sense out of Dr. Burke."

"It is exactly what I told you, Carrie. We anchored close to a craft that we thought was a merchantman, and that we meant to attack in our boats. I swam on board her in the dark—to see if they were keeping a good watch, and that sort of thing—and when I got on board, I found she was a ship of war, with a lot of heavy guns, and prepared to take us by surprise when we attacked her; so of course, when I swam back again with the news, Captain Lockett cut his cable and towed the brig out in the dark.

"As to the other affair that the doctor is talking about, I told you that, too; and it is exactly as I said it was. The only thing I had to do with it was that it happened to be my idea to keep the Spanish colours flying, and let the frigate keep on firing at us. The idea turned out well; but of course, if I had not thought of it somebody else would, so there was nothing in it, at all."

"Well, Bob, you may say what you like," Doctor Burke said, "but it is quite evident that the captain thought there was a good deal in it.

"And I think really, Gerald, that you and Mrs. O'Halloran have good reason to feel quite proud of him. I am not joking at all, when I say that Captain Lockett really spoke as if he considered that the good fortune they had had is very largely due to him. He said he hoped he should have Bob on board for another cruise."

"I certainly shall not go any more with him," Bob said, indignantly, "if he talks such nonsense about me, afterwards. As if there was anything in swimming two or three hundred yards, on a dark night; or in suggesting the keeping a flag up, instead of pulling it down."

When the Brilliant, however, came in two days later, Captain Langton called upon Mrs. O'Halloran; and told her that he did so in order to acquaint her with the extremely favourable report Captain Lockett had made, to him, of Bob's conduct; and that, from what he had said, it was evident that the lad had shown great courage in undertaking the swim to the Spanish vessel, and much promptness and ready wit in suggesting the device that had deceived him, as well as the Spaniards.

Captain Langton told the story, that evening, at General Eliott's dinner table; and said that although it was certainly a good joke, against himself, that he should have thus assisted a privateer to carry off two valuable prizes that had slipped through the frigate's hands, the story was too good not to be told. Thus, Bob's exploit became generally known among the officers of the garrison; and Captain O'Halloran was warmly congratulated upon the sharpness, and pluck, of his young brother-in-law.

Captain Lockett's decision, to be off without any delay, was fully justified by the appearance of a Spanish squadron in the bay, three days after his departure. It consisted of two seventy-fours, two frigates, five xebecs, and a number of galleys and small armed vessels. The men-of-war anchored off Algeciras; while the rest of the squadron kept a vigilant patrol at the mouth of the bay, and formed a complete blockade.

Towards the end of the month, the troops were delighted by the issue of an order that the use of powder for the hair was, henceforth, to be abandoned.

Vessels were now continually arriving from Algeciras, with troops and stores; and on the 26th the Spaniards began to form a camp, on the plain below San Roque, three miles from the garrison. This increased in size, daily, as fresh regiments arrived by land.

Orders were now issued that all horses in the garrison, except those whose owners had a store of at least one thousand pounds of grain, were either to be shot or turned out through the gates.

There was much excitement when two Dutch vessels, laden with rice and dried fruit, made their way in at night through the enemy's cruisers. Their cargoes were purchased for the troops; and these vessels, and a Venetian that had also got through, carried off with them a large number of Jewish, Genoese, and other traders, with their families, to ports in Barbary or Portugal. Indeed, from this time every vessel that went out carried away some of the inhabitants.

The position of these poor people was indeed serious. The standing order on the Rock was that every inhabitant, even in time of peace, should have in store six months' provisions; but the order had never been enforced, and few of them had any supplies of consequence. As they could not expect to be supplied from the garrison stores, the greater number had no resource but to leave the place. Some, however, who were better provided, obtained leave to erect wooden huts at the southern end of the Rock, so as to have a place of shelter to remove to, in case the enemy bombarded the town.

The Spaniards had, by this time, mounted their cannon in forts St. Philip and St. Barbara. Vast quantities of stores were landed at Point Mala, at the end of the bay. Some fifteen thousand men were under canvas, in their camp; and strong parties were constantly employed in erecting works near their forts. The garrison on their side were continually strengthening and adding to their batteries, erecting palisades and traverses, filling the magazines in the works, and preparing for an attack; and on the 11th of September some of the guns were opened upon the enemy's working parties and, for a time, compelled them to desist.

From the upper batteries on the Rock, a complete view was obtainable of all the enemy's operations and, as they were seen to be raising mortar batteries, preparations were made to diminish the effects of a bombardment of the town. For this purpose the pavement of the streets was removed, and the ground ploughed up; the towers and most conspicuous buildings taken down; and traverses carried across the streets, to permit communications to be carried on.

Early in October the Engineers and Artillery managed, with immense labour, to mount a gun on the summit of the Rock; and as, from this point, an almost bird's-eye view was obtained of the Spanish works, the fire of the gun annoyed them greatly at their work. This was maintained, however, steadily but, in spite of this interference with their operations, the Spaniards on the 20th of October opened thirty-five embrasures, in three batteries, in a line between their two forts.

Provisions of every kind were now becoming very dear. Fresh meat was from three to four shillings a pound, chickens twelve shillings a couple, ducks from fourteen to eighteen. Fish was equally dear; and vegetables hardly to be bought, at any price. Flour was running very short, and rice was served out instead of it.

On the 14th of November the privateer Buck, armed with twenty-four 9 pounders, was seen making into the bay. Two Spanish ships of the line, a frigate, two xebecs, and twenty-one small craft set out to intercept her. The cutter—seeing a whole Spanish squadron coming out—tacked and stood across towards the Barbary shore, pursued by the Spaniards. The wind was from the west; but the cutter, lying close hauled, was able just to stem the current, and hold her position; while the Spaniards, being square rigged and so unable to stand near the wind, drifted bodily away to leeward with the current; but the two men-of-war, perceiving what was happening, managed to make back into the bay.

As soon as the privateer saw the rest of the squadron drift away to leeward, she again headed for the Rock. The Spanish admiral, Barcelo, in a seventy-four gun ship, endeavoured to cut her off—firing two broadsides of grape and round shot at her—but, with the other man-of-war, was compelled to retire by the batteries at Europa; and the cutter made her way in triumphantly, insultingly returning the Spanish admiral's fire with her two little stern guns. The Spanish men-of-war drifted away after their small craft; and thus for the time the port was open again, thanks to the pluck of the little privateer—which had, it was found on her arrival, been some time at sea, and simply came in to get provisions.

As it could be seen, from the African coast, that the port was again open, two or three small craft came across, with bullocks and sheep. Four days later—the wind veering round to the southward—Admiral Barcelo, with his fleet, returned to the bay; and the blockade was renewed.

Already, Captain O'Halloran and his wife had the most ample reasons for congratulating themselves that they had taken Dr. Burke's advice, in the matter of vegetables and fowls. The little garden on the roof was the envy of all Carrie's female friends—many of whom, indeed, began imitations of it, on a small scale. Under the hot sun, and with careful watering, everything made astonishing progress. The cutting of the mustard and cress had, of course, begun in little more than a week from the time when the garden had been completed, and the seeds sown. The radishes were fit for pulling three weeks later and, as constant successions were sown, they had been amply supplied with an abundance of salad and, each morning, a trader in town came up and took all that they could spare—at prices that would, before the siege began, have appeared fabulous.

Along the edge of the parapet, and trailing over almost to the ground—covering the house in a bower of rich green foliage—the melons, cucumbers, and pumpkins blossomed and fruited luxuriantly and, for these, prices were obtained as high as those that the fruit would fetch, in Covent Garden, when out of season. But as melons, cucumbers, and pumpkins alike produce great quantities of seed, by the end of the year they were being grown, on a considerable scale, by all who possessed any facilities for cultivating them.

Later on, indeed, the governor—hearing, from the principal medical officer, how successful Captain O'Halloran had been—issued an order recommending all inhabitants to grow vegetables, and granting them every facility for so doing. All who chose to do so were allowed to fence in any little patches of earth they could discover, among the rocks or on unused ground; and it was not long before the poorer inhabitants spent much of their time in collecting earth, and establishing little garden plots, or in doing so for persons who could afford to pay for their labour.

The poultry venture was equally satisfactory. Already a considerable piece of rough and rocky ground, next to the garden, had been enclosed; thereby affording a much larger run for the fowls, and enabling a considerable portion of the garden to be devoted to the young broods. The damaged biscuits had been sold at a few shillings a ton and, at this price, Captain O'Halloran had bought the whole of the condemned lot—amounting to about ten tons—and there was, consequently, an ample supply of food for them, for an almost indefinite time. After supplying the house amply, there were at least a hundred eggs, a day, to sell; and Carrie, who now took immense interest in the poultry yard, calculated that they could dispose of ten couple a week, and still keep up their number from the young broods.

"The only thing you have to be afraid of is disease, Mrs. O'Halloran," said the doctor, who was her greatest adviser; "but there is little risk of that. Besides, you have only to hire one or two lads, of ten or twelve years old; and then you can put them out, when you like, from the farther inclosure, and let them wander about."

"But people don't generally watch fowls," Mrs. O'Halloran said. "Surely they would come back, at night, to roost."

"I have no doubt they would. When chickens are well fed, they can be trusted to find their way home at night. But you must remember that they are worth from twelve to fourteen shillings a couple, and what with the natives, and what with soldiers off duty, you would find that a good many would not turn up at all, unless they were watched. A couple of boys, at sixpence a day each, would keep them from straying too far, and prevent their being stolen, and would relieve you of a lot of anxiety about them."

So, after this, the fowls were turned out on to the Rock; where they wandered about, narrowly watched by two native boys, and were able to gather no small store of sustenance from the insects they found among the rocks, or on the low shrubs that grew among them.

Bob had, after his return from his cruise, fallen into his former habits; spending two hours every morning with Don Diaz, and reading for an hour or two in the evening with the doctor. It was now cool enough for exercise and enjoyment, in the day; and there were few afternoons when he did not climb up to the top of the Rock, and watch the Spanish soldiers labouring at their batteries, and wondering when they were going to begin to do something.

Occasionally they obtained news of what was passing in the enemy's lines, and the Spaniards were equally well informed of what was going on in the fortress, for desertions from both sides were not infrequent. Sometimes a soldier with the working parties, out in the neutral ground, would steal away and make for the Spanish lines; pursued by a musketry fire from his comrades, and saluted, perhaps, with a round or two of shot from the batteries above. But more frequently they made their escape from the back of the Rock, letting themselves down by ropes; although at least half the number who made the attempt were dashed to pieces among the precipices.

The majority of the deserters belonged to the Hanoverian regiments, but a good many British soldiers also deserted. In all cases these were reckless men who, having been punished for some offence or other, preferred risking death to remaining in the garrison. Some were caught in the attempt; while several, by getting into places where they could neither descend further nor return, were compelled at last, by hunger and thirst, to shout for assistance—preferring death by hanging to the slower agony of thirst.

The deserters from the Spanish lines principally belonged to the Walloon regiments in the Spanish service, or to regiments from Biscaya and other northern provinces. The troops were raised on the principle of our own militia, and objected strongly to service outside their own provinces; and it was this discontent that gave rise to their desertions to us. Some of them made their way at night, from the works where they were employed, through the lines of sentries. Others took to the water, either beyond Fort Barbara or at the head of the bay, and reached our lines by swimming.

Bob heartily congratulated himself, when he heard of the fate of some of the deserters who tried to make their way down at the back of the Rock, that he and Jim Sankey had not carried out their scheme of descending there, in search of birds. By this time he had come to know most of the young officers of the garrison and, although the time passed without any marked events, he had plenty of occupation and amusement. Sometimes they would get up fishing parties and, although they could not venture very far from the Rock, on account of the enemy's galleys and rowboats, they had a good deal of sport; and fish were welcome additions to the food, which consisted principally of salt rations—for Bob very soon tired of a diet of chicken.

There were some very heavy rains, in the last week of the year. These, they learned from deserters, greatly damaged the enemy's lines—filling their trenches, and washing down their banks. One advantage was that a great quantity of wood, cork, and other floating rubbish was washed down, by the rain, into the two rivers that fell into the bay and, as the wind was from the south, this was all blown over towards the Rock; where it was collected by boats, affording a most welcome supply of fuel, which had been, for some time, extremely scarce.

On the 8th of January a Neapolitan polacre was driven in under the guns, by the wind from the other side of the bay, and was obliged to drop anchor. Six thousand bushels of barley were found on board her, which was of inestimable value to the inhabitants, who were now suffering extremely; as were also the wives and children of the soldiers, whose rations—scanty for one—were wholly insufficient for the wants of a family. Fowls had now risen to eighteen shillings a couple, eggs were six pence each, and small cabbages fetched eighteen pence.

On the 12th the enemy fired ten shots into the town from Fort Saint Philip; causing a panic among the inhabitants, who at once began to remove to their huts at the other end of the Rock. A woman was wounded by a splinter of stone from one of the houses, being the first casualty that had taken place through the siege. The next day the admiral gave orders to the men-of-war that they should be in readiness, in case a convoy appeared, to afford protection to any ships that might attempt to come in. This order caused great joy among the garrison and inhabitants, as it seemed to signify that the governor had received information, in some manner, that a convoy was on its way out to relieve the town.

Two days later a brig, that was seen passing through the Straits to the east, suddenly changed her course and made for the Rock and, although the enemy tried to cut her off, she succeeded in getting into port. The welcome news soon spread that the brig was one of a large convoy that had sailed, late in December, for the relief of the town. She had parted company with the others in the Bay of Biscay and, on her way, had seen a Spanish squadron off Cadiz, which was supposed to be watching for the convoy. This caused much anxiety; but on the 16th a brig laden with flour arrived, with the news that Sir George Rodney had captured, off the coast of Portugal, six Spanish frigates, with seventeen merchantmen on their way from Bilbao to Cadiz; and that he had with him a fleet of twenty-one sail of the line, and a large convoy of merchantmen and transports.

The next day one of the prizes came in, and the midshipman in charge of her reported that, when he had left the convoy on the previous day, a battle was going on between the British fleet and the Spanish squadron. Late in the evening the convoy was in sight; and the Apollo, frigate, and one or two merchantmen got in, after dark, with the news that the Spaniards had been completely defeated—their admiral's flagship, with three others, captured; one blown up in the engagement, another driven ashore, and the rest dispersed.

The preparations for relieving the town had been so well concealed that the Spaniards had believed that the British men-of-war were destined for the West Indies, and had thought that the merchantmen would have fallen easy prizes to their squadron, which consisted of eleven men-of-war.

CHAPTER 13: ORANGES AND LEMONS.

There was great anxiety in Gibraltar that night, for the wind was very light and from the wrong direction and, in the morning, it was seen that the greater portion of the convoy had drifted far away to the east. Soon after noon, however, the Edgar managed to get in with the Spanish admiral's flagship—the Phoenix, of eighty guns—and in the evening the Prince George, with eleven or twelve ships, worked in round Europa Point; but Admiral Rodney, with the main body of the fleet and the prizes, was forced to anchor off Marbella—a Spanish town—fifteen leagues east of Gibraltar. It was not until seven or eight days later that the whole of the fleet and convoy arrived in the port.

On the 29th a transport came in with the 2nd battalion of the 73rd Regiment, with 944 rank and file. A large number of heavy cannon, from the prizes, were landed; and several hundreds of barrels of powder, in addition to those brought out with the convoy. Great stores of salt provisions and supplies of flour had been brought out but, unfortunately, little could be done towards providing the garrison with a supply of fresh meat. Had Admiral Rodney been able to remain with his fleet at Gibraltar, supplies could have been brought across from the African coast; but the British fleet was required elsewhere, and the relief afforded was a temporary one. The garrison was, however, relieved by a large number of the soldiers' wives and children being put on board the merchantmen, and sent home to England. Many of the poor inhabitants were also taken, either to Barbary or Portugal.

While the fleet was in port, the Spanish blockading squadron was moored close under the guns of Algeciras; and booms were laid round them, to prevent their being attacked by the boats of the British fleet. An opportunity was taken, of the presence of the Spanish admiral in Gibraltar, to arrange for an exchange of prisoners; and on the 13th of February the fleet sailed away, and the blockade was renewed by the Spaniards.

After the departure of the fleet, many months passed monotonously. The enemy were ever increasing and strengthening their works, which now mounted a great number of cannon; but beyond an occasional interchange of a few shots, hostilities were carried on languidly. The enemy made two endeavours to burn the British vessels, anchored under the guns of the batteries, by sending fire ships down upon them; but the crews of the ships of war manned the boats and, going out to meet them, towed them ashore; where they burned out without doing damage, and the hulls, being broken up, afforded a welcome supply of fuel.

The want of fresh meat and vegetables operated disastrously upon the garrison. Even before the arrival of the relieving fleet, scurvy had shown itself; and its ravages continued, and extended, as months went on. The hospitals became crowded with sufferers—a third of the force being unfit for any duty—while there were few but were more or less affected by it.

As soon as it became severe, Captain O'Halloran and his wife decided to sell no more vegetables; but sent the whole of their supply, beyond what was needed for their personal consumption, to the hospitals.

During these eight months, only a few small craft had managed to elude the vigilance of the enemy's cruisers and, frequently, foe many weeks at a time, no news of any kind from without reached the besieged. The small supplies of fresh meat that had, during the early part of the siege, been brought across in small craft from Barbary, had for some time ceased altogether; for the Moors of Tangiers had, under pressure of the Spaniards, broken off their alliance with us and joined them and, in consequence, not only did supplies cease to arrive, but English vessels entering the Straits were no longer able to anchor, as they had before done, under the guns of the Moorish batteries for protection from the Spanish cruisers.

Several times there were discussions between Bob, his sister, and Captain O'Halloran as to whether it would not be better for him to take the first opportunity that offered of returning to England. Their argument was that he was wasting his time, but to this he would not at all agree.

"I am no more wasting it, here, than if I were in Philpot Lane," he said. "It will be plenty of time for me to begin to learn the routine of the business, when I am two or three and twenty. Uncle calculated I should be four years abroad, learning the languages and studying wines. Well, I can study wines at any time; besides, after all, it is the agents out here that choose them. I can speak Spanish, now, like a native, and there is nothing further to be done in that way; I have given up lessons now with the doctor, but I get plenty of books from the garrison library, and keep up my reading. As for society, we have twenty times as much here, with the officers and their families, as I should have in London; and I really don't see there would be any advantage, whatever, in my going back.

"Something must be done here, some day. And after all, the siege does not make much difference, in any way, except that we don't get fresh meat for dinner. Everything goes on just the same only, I suppose, in peace time we should make excursions, sometimes, into Spain. The only difference I can make out is that I am able to be more useful to you, now, with the garden and poultry, than I could have been if there had been no siege."

There was indeed no lack of society. The O'Hallorans' was perhaps the most popular house on the Rock. They were making quite a large income from their poultry, and spent it freely. Presents of eggs, chicken, and vegetables were constantly being sent to all their friends, where there was any sickness in the family; and as, even at the high prices prevailing, they were able to purchase supplies of wine, and such other luxuries as were obtainable, they kept almost open house and, twice a week, had regular gatherings with music; and the suppers were vastly more appreciated, by their guests, than is usually the case at such entertainments.

Early in September, when scurvy was still raging, the doctor was, one day, lamenting the impossibility of obtaining oranges and lemons.

"It makes one's heart ache," he said, "to see the children suffer. It is bad enough that strong men should be scarcely able to crawl about; but soldiers must take their chances, whether they come from shot or from scurvy; but it is lamentable to see the children fading away. We have tried everything—acids and drugs of all sorts—but nothing does any good. As I told you, I saw the scurvy on the whaling trip I went, and I am convinced that nothing but lemon juice, or an absolutely unlimited amount of vegetables, will do any good."

A week previously, a small privateer had come in with some mailbags, which she had brought on from Lisbon. Among them was a letter to Bob from the owners of the Antelope. It had been written months before, after the arrival of the brig and her two prizes in England. It said that the two vessels and their cargoes had been sold, and the prize-money divided; and that his share amounted to three hundred and thirty-two pounds, for which sum an order upon a firm of merchants at Gibraltar was inclosed. The writers also said that, after consultation with Captain Lockett, from whom they had heard of the valuable services he had rendered, the owners of the Antelope had decided—as a very small mark of their appreciation, and gratitude—to present him with a service of plate, to the value of five hundred pounds, and in such form as he might prefer on his return to England.

He had said nothing to his sister of this letter, as his intention was to surprise her with some present. But the doctor's words now determined him to carry into effect an idea that had before occurred to him, upon seeing so many sickly children among the families of the officers of their acquaintance.

"Look here, doctor," he said, "I mean to go out and try and get a few boxes of oranges and lemons; but mind, nobody but you and I must know anything about it."

"How on earth do you mean to do it, Bob?"

"Well, I have not settled, yet; but there can't be any difficulty about getting out. I might go down to the Old Mole, and swim from there to the head of the bay; or I might get some of the fishermen to go round the point, and land me to the east, well beyond the Spanish lines."

"You couldn't do that, Bob; there is too sharp a lookout kept on the batteries. No craft is allowed to go any distance from the Rock, as they are afraid of the Spaniards learning the state to which we are reduced, by illness. If you did swim to the head of the bay, as you talk about, you would be certain to be captured at once, by the Spaniards; and in that case you would, as likely as not, be shot as a spy."

"Still, deserters do get out, you know, doctor. There is scarcely a week that two or three don't manage to get away. I mean to try, anyhow. If you like to help me, of course it will make it easier; if not, I shall try by myself."

"Gerald and your sister would never forgive me, if anything happened to you, Bob."

"There is no occasion for them to know anything about it. Anyhow, I shall say nothing to them. I shall leave a note behind me, saying that I am going to make an attempt to get out, and bring back a boat full of oranges and lemons. I am past seventeen, now; and am old enough to act for myself. I don't think, if the thing is managed properly, there is any particular risk about it. I will think it over, by tomorrow, and tell you what plan I have fixed on."

On the following day, Bob told the doctor that there were two plans.

"The first is to be lowered by a rope, down at the back of the Rock. That is ever so much the simplest. Of course, there is no difficulty about it if the rope is long enough. Some of the deserters have failed because the rope has been too short, but I should take care to get one long enough. The only fear is the sentries; I know that there are lots of them posted about there, on purpose to prevent desertion."

"Quite so, Bob; and no one is allowed to go along the paths after dark, except on duty."

"Yes.

"Well, the other plan is to go out with the party that furnishes the sentries, down on the neutral ground; choose some dark night, manage to get separated from them, as they march out, and then make for the shore and take to the water. Of course, if one could arrange to have the officer with the party in the secret, it would make it easy enough."

"It might be done, that way," the doctor said, thoughtfully. "Have you quite made up your mind to do this thing, Bob?"

"I have quite made up my mind to try, anyhow."

"Well, if you mean to try, Bob, it is just as well that you shouldn't get shot, at the start. I have just been round to the orderly room. Our regiment furnishes the pickets on the neutral ground, tonight. Captain Antrobus commands the party. He is a good fellow and, as he is a married man, and all four of his children are bad with scurvy, he would feel an interest in your attempt.

"You know him as well as I do. If you like, I will go with you to his quarters, and see what we can do with him."

They at once set out.

"Look here, Antrobus," the doctor said, after asking that officer to come out for a chat with him, "if we don't get some lemon juice, I am afraid it will go very hard with a lot of the children."

"Yes, we have known that for some time, doctor."

"Well, Repton here has made up his mind to try to get out of the place, and make his way to Malaga, and get a boatload of fruit and try to bring it in. Of course he will go dressed as a native, and he speaks Spanish well enough to pass anywhere, without suspicion. So, once beyond the lines, I don't see much difficulty in his making his way to Malaga. Whether he will get back again is another matter, altogether. That is his business. He has plenty of money to purchase the fruit, when he arrives there; and to buy a boat, and all that sort of thing.

"The difficulty is in getting out. Now, nobody is going to know how he does this, except our three selves."

"But why do you come to me, Burke?"

"Because you command the guard, tonight, on the neutral ground. What he proposes is that he should put on a soldier's greatcoat and cap, and take a firelock and, in the dark, fall in with your party. When you get well out on the neutral ground, he could either slip away and take his chance or, what would be better still, he might be in the party you take forward to post as sentries, and you could take him along with you, so that he would go with you as far as the shore; and could then slip away, come back a bit, so as to be out of sight of the farthest sentry, and then take to the water.

"He can swim like a fish, and what current there is will be with him; so that, before it began to be light, he could land two or three miles beyond the Spanish lines. He is going to leave a note behind, for O'Halloran, saying he has left; but no one will know whether he got down at the back of the Rock, or swam across the bay, or how he has gone.

"I have tried to dissuade him; but he has made up his mind to try it and, seeing that—if he succeeds—it may save the lives of scores of children, I really cannot refuse to help him."

"Well, I don't know," Captain Antrobus said. "There certainly does not seem much risk in his going out, as you say. I should get a tremendous wigging, no doubt, if he is discovered, and it was known that I had a hand in it; but I would not mind risking that, for the sake of the children.

"But don't take a firelock, Repton. The sergeants would be sure to notice that there was an extra man. You had better join us, just as we set out. I will say a word or two to you, then do you follow on, in the dark. The men will suppose you are one of the drummers I am taking with me, to serve as a messenger, or something of that sort. That way you can follow close behind me, while I am posting the sentries after leaving the main body at the guardhouse. After posting the last man at the seashore, I can turn off with you for a few yards, as if giving you an order.

"Then I will go back and stay for a time with the last sentry, who will naturally think that the drummer has been sent back to the guardhouse. I will recommend him to be vigilant, and keep by him for some time, till I am pretty sure you have taken to the water and swam past; so that if the sentry should hear a splash, or anything, I can say it can only be a fish; and that, at any rate, it would not do to give an alarm, as it cannot be anything of consequence.

"You see, you don't belong to the garrison, and it is no question of assisting a deserter to escape. Anyhow, I will do it."

Thanking Captain Antrobus greatly, for his promise of assistance, Bob went off into the town; where he bought a suit of Spanish clothes, such as would be appropriate for a small farmer or trader. He then presented his letter of credit at the merchant's, and drew a hundred pounds, which he obtained in Spanish gold. This money and the clothes he put in an oilskin bag, of which the mouth was securely closed. This he left at the doctor's.

As soon as it became dark he went down again. The doctor had a greatcoat and hat in readiness for him—there being plenty of effects of men who had died in the hospital—and as soon as Bob had put them on, walked across—with Bob following him—to the spot where Captain Antrobus' company were falling in. Just as they were about to march, the doctor went up to the captain; who after a word or two with him said to Bob, in a voice loud enough to be heard by the noncommissioned officer, close to him:

"Well, you will keep by me."

The night was a dark one, and the party made their way down to the gate, where the passwords were exchanged; and the company then moved along by the narrow pathway between the artificial inundation and the foot of the Rock. They continued their way until they arrived at the building that served as the main guard of the outlying pickets. Here two-thirds of the company were left; and the captain led the others out, an officer belonging to the regiment whose men he was relieving accompanying him. As the sentries were posted the men relieved fell in, under the orders of their officer and, as soon as the last had been relieved, they marched back to the guardhouse.

A minute later, Captain Antrobus turned to Bob.

"You need not wait," he said. "Go back to the guardhouse. Mind how you go."

Bob saluted and turned off, leaving the officer standing by the sentry. He went some distance back, then walked down the sand to the water's edge, and waded noiselessly into the water. The oilskin bag was, he knew, buoyant enough to give him ample support in the water.

When he was breast deep, he let his uniform cloak slip off his shoulders; allowed his shoes to sink to the bottom, and his three-cornered hat to float away. The doctor had advised him to do this.

"If you leave the things at the edge of the water, Bob, it will be thought that somebody has deserted; and then there will be a lot of questions, and inquiries. You had better take them well out into the sea with you, and then let them go. They will sink, and drift along under water and, if they are ever thrown up, it will be far beyond our lines. In that way, as the whole of the guard will answer to their names, when the roll is called tomorrow, no one will ever give a thought to the drummer who fell in at the last moment; or, if one of them does think of it, he will suppose that the captain sent him into the town, with a report."

The bag would have been a great encumbrance, had Bob wanted to swim fast. As it was, he simply placed his hands upon it, and struck out with his feet, making straight out from the shore. This he did for some ten minutes; and then, being certain that he was far beyond the sight of anyone on shore, he turned and, as nearly as he could, followed the line of the coast. The voices of the sentries calling to each other came across the sea, and he could make out a light or two in the great fort at the water's edge.

It was easy work. The water was, as nearly as possible, the temperature of his body; and he felt that he could remain for any time in it, without inconvenience. The lights in the fort served as a mark by which he could note his progress; and an hour after starting he was well abreast of them, and knew that the current must be helping him more than he had expected it would do.

Another hour, and he began to swim shorewards; as the current might, for aught he knew, be drifting him somewhat out into the bay. When he was able to make out the dark line ahead of him, he again resumed his former course. It was just eight o'clock when the guard had passed through the gate. He had started half an hour later. He swam what seemed to him a very long time, but he had no means of telling how the time passed.

When he thought it must be somewhere about twelve o'clock, he made for the shore. He was sure that, by this time, he must be at least three miles beyond the fort; and as the Spanish camps lay principally near San Roque, at the head of the bay, and there were no tents anywhere by the seashore, he felt sure that he could land, now, without the slightest danger.

Here, then, he waded ashore, stripped, tied his clothes in a bundle, waded a short distance back again, and dropped them in the sea. Then he returned, took up the bag, and carried it up the sandy beach. Opening it, he dressed himself in the complete set of clothes he had brought with him, put on the Spanish shoes and round turned-up hat, placed his money in his pocket; scraped a shallow hole in the sand, put the bag in it and covered it, and then started walking briskly along on the flat ground beyond the sand hills He kept on until he saw the first faint light in the sky; then he sat down among some bushes, until it was light enough for him to distinguish the features of the country.

Inland, the ground rose rapidly into hills—in many places covered with wood—and half an hour's walking took him to one of these. Looking back, he could see the Rock rising, as he judged, from twelve to fourteen miles away. He soon found a place with some thick undergrowth and, entering this, lay down and was soon sound asleep.

When he woke it was already late in the afternoon. He had brought with him, in the bag, some biscuits and hardboiled eggs; and of a portion of these he made a hearty meal. Then he pushed up over the hill until, after an hour's walking, he saw a road before him. This was all he wanted, and he sat down and waited until it became dark. A battalion of infantry passed along as he sat there, marching towards Gibraltar. Two or three long lines of laden carts passed by, in the same direction.

He had consulted a map before starting, and knew that the distance to Malaga was more than twenty leagues; and that the first place of any importance was Estepona, about eight leagues from Gibraltar, and that before the siege a large proportion of the supplies of fruit and vegetables were brought to Gibraltar from this town. Starting as soon as it became dark, he passed through Estepona at about ten o'clock; looked in at a wine shop, and sat down to a pint of wine and some bread; and then continued his journey until, taking it quietly, he was in sight of Marbella.

He slept in a grove of trees until daylight, and then entered the town, which was charmingly situated among orange groves. Going into a fonda—or tavern—he called for breakfast. When he had eaten this, he leisurely strolled down to the port and, taking his seat on a block of stone, on the pier, watched the boats. As, while walking down from the fonda, he had passed several shops with oranges and lemons, it seemed to him that it would in some respects be better for him to get the fruit here, instead of going on to Malaga.

In the first place, the distance to return was but half that from Malaga; and in the second it would probably be easier to get out, from a quiet little port like this, than from a large town like Malaga. The question which puzzled him was how was he to get his oranges on board. Where could he reasonably be going to take them?

Presently, a sailor came up and began to chat with him.

"Are you wanting a boat, senor?"

"I have not made up my mind, yet," he said. "I suppose you are busy here, now?"

"No, the times are dull. Usually we do a good deal of trade with Gibraltar but, at present, that is all stopped. It is hard on us but, when we turn out the English hereticos, I hope we shall have better times than ever. But who can say? They have plenty of money, the English; and are ready to pay good prices for everything."

"But I suppose you take things to our camp?"

The fisherman shook his head.

"They get their supplies direct from Malaga, by sea. There are many carts go through here, of course; but the roads are heavy, and it is cheaper to send things by water. If our camp had been on the seashore, instead of at San Roque, we might have taken fish and fruit to them; but it is a long way across and, of course, in small boats we cannot go round the great Rock, and run the risk of being shot at or taken prisoners.

"No; there is nothing for us to do here, now, but to carry what fish and fruit we do not want at Marbella across to Malaga; and we get poor prices, there, to what we used to get at Gibraltar; and no chance of turning an honest penny by smuggling away a few pounds of tobacco, as we come back. There was as much profit, in that, as there was in the sale of the goods; but one had to be very sharp, for they were always suspicious of boats coming back from there, and used to search us so that you would think one could not bring so much as a cigar on shore. But you know, there are ways of managing things.

"Are you thinking of going across to Malaga, senor?"

"Well, I have a little business there. I want to see how the new wines are selling; and whether it will be better for me to sell mine, now, or to keep them in my cellars for a few months. I am in no hurry. Tomorrow is as good as today. If there had been a boat going across, I might have taken a passage that way, instead of riding."

"I don't know, senor. There was a man asking, an hour ago, if anyone was going. He was wanting to take a few boxes of fruit across, but he did not care about hiring my boat for himself. That, you see, was reasonable enough; but if the senor wished to go, too, it might be managed if you took the boat between you. I would carry you cheaply, if you would be willing to wait for an hour or two; so that I could go round to the other fishermen, and get a few dozen fish from one and a few dozen from another, to sell for them over there. That is the way we manage."

"I could not very well go until the afternoon," Bob said.

"If you do not go until the afternoon, senor, it would be as well not to start until evening. The wind is very light, and we should have to row. If you start in the afternoon, we should get to Malaga at two or three o'clock in the morning, when everyone was asleep; but if you were to start in the evening, we should be in in reasonable time, just as the people were coming into the markets. That would suit us for the sale of our fish, and the man with his fruit. The nights are warm and, with a cloak and an old sail to keep off the night dew, the voyage would be more pleasant than in the heat of the day."

"That would do for me, very well," Bob said. "Nothing could be better. What charge would you make, for taking me across and bringing me back, tomorrow?"

"At what time would you want to return, senor?"

"It would matter little. I should be done with my business by noon, but I should be in no hurry. I could wait until evening, if that would suit you better."

"And we might bring other passengers back, and any cargo we might pick up?"

"Yes, so that you do not fill the boat so full that there would be no room for me to stretch my legs."

"Would the senor think four dollars too much? There will be my brother and myself, and it will be a long row."

"It is dear," Bob said, decidedly; "but I will give you three dollars and, if everything passes to my satisfaction, maybe I will make up the other dollar."

"Agreed, senor. I will see if I can find the man who was here, asking for a boat for his fruit."

"I will come back in an hour, and see," Bob said, getting up and walking leisurely away.

The fisherman was waiting for him.

"I can't find the man, senor, though I have searched all through the town. He must have gone off to his farm again."

"That is bad. How much did you reckon upon making from him?"

"I should have got another three dollars from him."

"Well, I tell you what," Bob said; "I have a good many friends, and people are always pleased with a present from the country. A box of fruit from Marbella is always welcome, for their flavour is considered excellent. It is well to throw a little fish, to catch a big one; and a present is like oil on the wheels of business. How many boxes of fruit will your boat carry? I suppose you could take twenty, and still have room to row?"

"Thirty, sir; that is the boat," and he pointed to one moored against the quay.

She was about twenty feet long, with a mast carrying a good-sized sail.

"Very well, then. I will hire the boat for myself. I will give you six dollars, and another dollar for drink money, if all goes pleasantly. You must be ready to come back, tomorrow evening; or the first thing next morning, if it should suit you to stay till then. You can carry what fish you can get to Malaga, and may take in a return cargo if you can get one. That will be extra profit for yourselves. But you and your brother must agree to carry down the boxes of fruit, and put them on board here. I am not going to pay porters for that.

"At what time will you start?"

"Shall we say six o'clock, senor?"

"That will suit me very well. You can come up with me, now, and bring the fruit down, and put it on board; or I will be down here at five o'clock, and you can go up and get it, then."

The man thought for a moment.

"I would rather do it now, senor, if it makes no difference to you. Then we can have our evening meals at home with our families, and come straight down here, and start."

"Very well; fetch your brother, and we will set about the matter at once; as I have to go out to my farm and make some arrangements, and tell them they may not see me again for three days."

In two or three minutes the fisherman came back, with his brother. Bob went with them to a trader in fruit, and bought twenty boxes of lemons and ten of oranges, and saw them carried down and put on board. Then he handed a dollar to the boatman.

"Get a loaf of white bread, and a nice piece of cooked meat, and a couple of bottles of good wine, and put them on board. We shall be hungry, before morning. I will be here at a few minutes before six."

Highly satisfied with the good fortune that had enabled him to get the fruit on board without the slightest difficulty, Bob returned into the town. It was but eleven o'clock now so—having had but a short sleep the night before, and no prospect of sleep the next night—he walked a mile along the road by the sea, then turned off among the sand hills and slept, till four in the afternoon; after which he returned to Marbella, and partook of a hearty meal.

Having finished this he strolled out, and was not long in discovering a shop where arms were sold. Here he bought a brace of long, heavy pistols, and two smaller ones; with powder and bullets, and also a long knife. They were all made into a parcel together and, on leaving the shop, he bought a small bag. Then he went a short distance out of the town again, carefully loaded the four pistols, and placed them and the knife in the bag.

As he went back, the thought struck him that the voyage might probably last longer than they expected and, buying a basket, he stored it with another piece of meat, three loaves, and two more bottles of wine, and gave it to a boy to carry down to the boat.

It was a few minutes before six when he got there. The two sailors were standing by the boat, and a considerable pile of fish in the bow showed that they had been successful in getting a consignment from the other fishermen of the port. They looked surprised at the second supply of provisions.

"Why, senor, we have got the things you ordered."

"Yes, yes, I do not doubt that; but I have heard, before now, of headwinds springing up, and boats not being able to make their passage, and being blown off land; and I am not fond of fasting. I daresay you won't mind eating, tomorrow, anything that is not consumed by the time we reach port."

"We will undertake that, senor," the man said, laughing, highly satisfied at the liberality of their employer.

"Is there wind enough for the sail?" Bob asked, as he stepped into the stern of the boat.

"It is very light, senor, but I daresay it will help us a bit. We shall get out the oars."

"I will take the helm, if you sail," Bob said. "You can tell me which side to push it. It will be an amusement, and keep me awake."

The sun was just setting, as they started. There was scarcely a breath of wind. The light breeze that had been blowing, during the day, had dropped with the sun; and the evening breeze had not yet sprung up. The two fishermen rowed, and the boat went slowly through the water; for the men knew that they had a long row before them, and were by no means inclined to exert themselves—especially as they hoped that, in a short time, they would get wind enough to take them on their way, without the oars.

Bob chatted with them until it became dark. As soon as he was perfectly sure that the boat could not be seen from the land, he quietly opened his bag, and changed the conversation.

"My men," he said, "I wonder that you are content with earning small wages, here, when you could get a lot of money by making a trip, occasionally, round to Gibraltar with fruit. It would be quite easy; for you could keep well out from the coast till it became dark, and then row in close under the Rock; and keep along round the Point, and into the town, without the least risk of being seen by any of our cruisers. You talked about making money by smuggling in tobacco from there, but that is nothing to what you could get by taking fruit into Gibraltar. These oranges cost a dollar and a half, a box; and they would fetch ten dollars a box, easily, there. Indeed, I think they would fetch twenty dollars a box. Why, that would give a profit, on the thirty boxes, of six or seven hundred dollars. Just think of that!"

"Would they give such a price as that?" the men said, in surprise.

"They would. They are suffering from want of fresh meat, and there is illness among them; and oranges and lemons are the things to cure them. It is all very well for men to suffer, but no one wants women and children to do so; and it would be the act of good Christians to relieve them, besides making as much money, in one little short trip, as you would make in a year's work."

"That is true," the men said, "but we might be sunk by the guns, going there; and we should certainly be hung, when we got back, if they found out where we had been."

"Why should they find out?" Bob asked. "You would put out directly it got dark, and row round close under the Rock, and then make out to sea; and in the morning you would be somewhere off Marbella, but eight or ten miles out, with your fishing nets down; and who is to know that you have been to Gibraltar?"

The men were silent. The prospect certainly seemed a tempting one. Bob allowed them to turn it over in their minds for a few minutes, and then spoke again.

"Now, my men, I will speak to you frankly. It is just this business that I am bent upon, now. I have come out from Gibraltar to do a little trade in fruit. It is sad to see women and children suffering; and there is, as I told you, lots of money to be made out of it. Now, I will make you a fair offer. You put the boat's head round, now, and sail for Gibraltar. If the wind helps us a bit, we shall be off the Rock by daylight. When we get there, I will give you a hundred dollars, apiece."

"It is too much risk," one of the men said, after a long pause.

"There is no risk at all," Bob said, firmly. "You will get in there tomorrow, and you can start again, as soon as it becomes dark; and in the morning you will be able to sail into Marbella, and who is to know that you haven't been across to Malaga, as you intended?

"I tell you what, I will give you another fifty dollars for your fish; or you can sell them there, yourselves—they will fetch you quite that."

The men still hesitated, and spoke together in a low voice.

"Look here, men," Bob said, as he took the two heavy pistols from his bag, "I have come out from the Rock to do this, and I am going to do it. The question is, 'Which do you choose—to earn two hundred and fifty dollars for a couple of days' work, or to be shot and thrown overboard?' This boat is going there, whether you go in her or not. I don't want to hurt you—I would rather pay the two hundred and fifty dollars—but that fruit may save the lives of many women, and little children, and I am bound to do it.

"You can make another trip or not, just as you please. Now, I think you will be very foolish, if you don't agree; for you will make three times as much as I offer you, every thirty boxes of fruit that you can take in there; but the boat has got to go there now, and you have got to take your choice whether you go in her, or not."

"How do we know that you will pay us the money, when we get there?" one of the Spaniards asked.

Bob put his hand into his pocket.

"There," he said. "There are twenty gold pieces, that is, a hundred dollars. That is a proof I mean what I say. Put them into your pockets. You shall have the rest, when you get there. But mind, no nonsense; no attempts at treachery. If I see the smallest sign of that, I will shoot you down without hesitation.

"Now, row, and I'll put her head round."

The men said a few words in an undertone to each other.

"You guarantee that no harm shall come to us at Gibraltar, and that we shall be allowed to leave again?"

"Yes, I promise you that, faithfully.

"Now, you have got to row a good bit harder than you have been rowing, up till now. We must be past Fort Santa Barbara before daylight."

The boat's head was round, by this time, and the men began to row steadily. At present, they hardly knew whether they were satisfied, or not. Two hundred and fifty dollars was, to them, an enormous sum; but the risk was great. It was not that they feared that any suspicion would fall upon them, on their return. They had often smuggled tobacco from Gibraltar, and had no high opinion of the acuteness of the authorities. What really alarmed them was the fear of being sunk, either by the Spanish or British guns. However, they saw that, for the present at any rate, they had no option but to obey the orders of a passenger possessed of such powerful arguments as those he held in his hands.

CHAPTER 14: A WELCOME CARGO.

After the men had been rowing for an hour, Bob felt a slight breeze springing up from off the land, and said:

"You may as well get up the sail. It will help you along a bit."

The sail was a large one, for the size of the boat; and Bob felt a distinct increase in her pace, as soon as the men began to row again. He could make out the line of the hills against the sky; and had, therefore, no difficulty in keeping the course. They were soon back opposite Marbella, the lights of which he could clearly make out. Little by little the breeze gathered strength, and the rowers had comparatively easy work of it, as the boat slipped away lightly before the wind.

"What do you make it—twelve leagues from Marbella to the Rock?"

"About that," the man replied. "If the wind holds like this, we shall not be very far from the Rock by daylight. We are going along about a league an hour."

"Well, stretch out to it, lads, for your own sakes. I have no fear of a shot from Santa Barbara. The only thing I am afraid of is that we should be seen by any Spanish boats that may be cruising round that side, before we get under shelter of the guns of the Rock."

The fishermen needed no warning as to the danger of being caught, and bent again more strongly to their oars. After they had rowed two hours longer, Bob told them to pull the oars in.

"You had better have a quarter of an hour's rest, and some supper and a bottle of wine," he said. "You have got your own basket, forward. I will take mine out of this by my side."

As their passenger had paid for it, the boatmen had got a very superior wine to that they ordinarily drank. After eating their supper—bread, meat, and onions—and drinking half a bottle of wine, each, they were disposed to look at the situation in a more cheerful light. Two hundred and fifty dollars was certainly well worth running a little risk for. Why, it would make them independent of bad weather; and they would be able to freight their boat themselves, with fish or fruit, and to trade on their own account.

They were surprised at the enterprise of this young trader, whom they supposed to be a native of Gibraltar; for Bob thought that it was as well that they should remain in ignorance of his nationality, as they might have felt more strongly that they were rendering assistance to the enemy, did they know that he was English.

Hour after hour passed. The wind did not increase in force nor, on the other hand, did it die away. There was just enough to keep the sail full, and take much of the weight of the boat off the arms of the rowers. The men, knowing the outline of the hills, were able to tell what progress they were making; and told Bob when they were passing Estepona. Two or three times there was a short pause, for the men to have a draught of wine. With that exception, they rowed on steadily.

"It will be a near thing, senor," one of them said, towards morning. "The current counts for three or four miles against us. If it hadn't been for that, we should certainly have done it. As it is, it is doubtful."

"I think we are about a mile off shore, are we not?" Bob asked. "That is about the distance I want to keep. If there are any cruisers, they are sure to be further out than that; and as for Santa Barbara, if they see us and take the trouble to fire at us, there is not much chance of their hitting such a mark as this, a mile away. Besides, almost all their guns are on the land side."

The men made no reply. To them, the thought of being fired at by big guns was much more alarming than that of being picked up by a cruiser of their own nation; although they saw there might be a good deal of difficulty in persuading the authorities that they had taken part, perforce, in the attempt to get fruit into the beleaguered garrison. Daylight was just beginning to break, when one of the fishermen pointed out a dark mass inshore, but somewhat ahead of them.

"That is Santa Barbara," he said.

They had already, for some time, made out the outline of the Rock; and Bob gazed anxiously seaward but could, as yet, see no signs of the enemy's cruisers.

"Row away, lads," he said. "They won't see us for some time and, in another half hour, we shall be safe."

The Spaniards bent to their oars with all their strength, now; from time to time looking anxiously over their shoulders at the fort. Rapidly the daylight stole across the sky, and they were just opposite Santa Barbara when a gun boomed out, and a shot flew over their heads and struck the water, a quarter of a mile beyond them. With a yell of fear, the two Spaniards threw themselves at the bottom of the boat.

"Get up, you fools!" Bob shouted. "You will be no safer, down there, than if you were rowing. If a shot strikes her she will be smashed up, whether you are rowing or lying down. If you stay there, it will be an hour before we get out of range of their guns while, if you row like men, we shall get further and further away every minute, and be safe in a quarter of an hour."

It was only, however, after he threatened to shoot them, if they did not set to work again, that the Spaniards resumed their oars; but when they did they rowed desperately. Another shot from the fort struck the water a short distance astern, exciting a fresh yell of agony from the men.

"There, you see," Bob said; "if you hadn't been sending her faster through the water, that would have hit us.

"Ah! They are beginning from that sloop, out at sea."

This was a small craft that Bob had made out, as the light increased, a mile and a half seaward. She had changed her course, and was heading in their direction.

Retaining his hold of his pistols Bob moved forward, put out a spare oar, and set to to row. Shot after shot came from the fort, and several from the sloop; but a boat, at that distance, presents but a small mark and, although a shot went through the sail, none struck her. Presently a gun boomed out ahead of them, high in the air; and a shot fell near the sloop, which at once hauled her wind, and stood out to sea.

"We have got rid of her," Bob said, "and we are a mile and a half from the fort, now. You can take it easy, men. They won't waste many more shot upon us."

Indeed, only one more gun was fired by the Spaniards; and then the boat pursued her course unmolested, Bob returning to his seat at the helm.

"They will be on the lookout for us, as we go back," one of the Spaniards said.

"They won't see you in the dark," Bob replied. "Besides, as likely as not they will think that you are one of the Rock fishing boats, that has ventured out too far, and failed to get back by daylight."

Once out of reach of the shot from the fort, the sailors laid in their oars—having been rowing for more than ten hours—and the boat glided along quietly, at a distance of a few hundred feet from the foot of the cliff.

"Which are you going to do?" Bob asked them; "take fifty dollars for your fish, or sell them for what you can get for them?"

The fishermen at once said they would take the fifty dollars for, although they had collected all that had been brought in by the other fishermen—amounting to some five hundred pounds in weight—they could not imagine that fish, for which they would not have got more than ten dollars—at the outside—at Malaga, could sell for fifty at Gibraltar.

As they rounded Europa Point there was a hail from above and, looking up, Bob saw Captain O'Halloran and the doctor.

"Hulloa, Bob!"

"Hulloa!" Bob shouted back, and waved his hat.

"All right, Bob?"

"All right. I have got thirty boxes!"

"Hurrah!" the doctor shouted, waving his hat over his head. "We will meet you at the New Mole.

"That is something like a boy, Gerald!"

"It is all very well for you," Captain O'Halloran said. "You are not responsible for him, and you are not married to his sister."

"Put yourself in the way of a cannonball, Gerald, and I will be married to her a week after—if she will have me."

His companion laughed.

"It is all very well, Teddy; but it is just as well, for you, that you did not show your face up at the house during the last three days. It is not Bob who has been blamed. It has been entirely you and me, especially you. The moment she read his letter, she said at once that you were at the bottom of it, and that it never would have entered Bob's mind to do such a mad thing, if you had not put him up to it; and of course, when I came back from seeing you, and said that you admitted that you knew what he was doing, it made the case infinitely worse. It will be a long time before she takes you into favour again."

"About an hour," the doctor said, calmly. "As soon as she finds that Bob has come back again, with the fruit; and that he has as good as saved the lives of scores of women and children; she will be so proud of him that she will greet me as part author of the credit he has gained—though really, as I told you, I had nothing to do with it except that, when I saw that Bob had made up his mind to try, whether I helped him or not, I thought it best to help him, as far as I could, to get away.

"Now, we must get some porters to carry the boxes up to your house, or wherever he wants them sent.

"Ah! Here is the governor. He will be pleased to hear that Bob has got safely back."

Captain O'Halloran had, when he found Bob's letter in his room on the morning after he had left, felt it his duty to go to the town major's office to mention his absence; and it had been reported to the general, who had sent for Gerald to inquire about the circumstances of the lad's leaving. Captain O'Halloran had assured him that he knew nothing, whatever, of his intention; and that it was only when he found the letter on his table, saying that he had made up his mind to get beyond the Spanish lines, somehow, and to bring in a boatload of oranges, for the use of the women and children who were suffering from scurvy, that he knew his brother-in-law had any such idea in his mind.

"It is a very gallant attempt, Captain O'Halloran—although, of course, I should not have permitted it to be made, had I been aware of his intentions."

"Nor should I, sir," Captain O'Halloran said. "My wife is, naturally, very much upset."

"That is natural enough," the governor said. "Still, she has every reason to be proud of her brother. A man could risk his life for no higher object than that for which Mr. Repton has undertaken this expedition.

"How do you suppose he got away?"

"I have no idea, sir. He may have got down by ropes, from the back of the Rock—the way the deserters generally choose."

"Yes; but if he got down without breaking his neck, he would still have to pass our line of sentries, and also through the Spaniards."

"He is a very good swimmer, general; and may have struck out, and landed beyond the Spanish forts. Of course, he may have started from the Old Mole, and swam across to the head of the bay. He is sure to have thought the matter well out. He is very sharp and, if anyone could get through, I should say Bob could. He speaks the language like a native."

"I have heard of him before," the governor said, smiling. "Captain Langton told us of the boy's doings, when he was away in that privateer brig; and how he took in the frigate, and was the means of the brig capturing those two valuable prizes, and how he had swam on board a Spanish sloop of war. He said that no officer could have shown greater pluck, and coolness.

"I sincerely hope that no harm will come to him; but how—even if he succeeds in getting through the Spanish lines—he can manage, single handed, to get back here in a boat, is more than I can see. Well, I sincerely trust that no harm will come to him."

As the governor, with two or three of his staff, now came along, Captain O'Halloran went up to him.

"I am glad to say, sir," he said, "that young Repton has just returned, and that he has brought in thirty cases of fruit."

"I am extremely glad to hear it, Captain O'Halloran," the governor said, warmly. "When it was reported to me, an hour since, that the Spanish fort and one of their cruisers were firing at a small boat, that was making her way in from the east, the thought struck me that it might be your brother-in-law.

"Where is he?"

"He is just coming round to the Mole, sir. Doctor Burke and myself are going to meet him."

"I will go down with you," the governor said. "Those oranges are worth a thousand pounds a box, to the sick."

The party reached the Mole before the boat came in; for after rounding the Point she had been becalmed, and the fishermen had lowered the sail and betaken themselves to their oars again. Bob felt a little uncomfortable when, as the boat rowed up to the landing stairs, he saw General Eliott, with a group of officers, standing at the top. He was relieved when, on ascending the steps, the governor stepped forward and shook him warmly by the hand.

"I ought to begin by scolding you, for breaking out of the fortress without leave; but I am too pleased with the success of your venture, and too much gratified at the spirit that prompted you to undertake it, to say a word. Captain O'Halloran tells me that you have brought in thirty cases of fruit."

"Yes, sir. I have ten cases of oranges, and twenty of lemons. I propose, with your permission, to send half of these up to the hospitals, for the use of the sick there. The others I intend for the use of the women and children of the garrison, and townspeople. Doctor Burke will see for me that they are distributed where they will do most good."

"Well, my lad, I thank you most cordially for your noble gift to the troops; and there is not a man here who will not feel grateful to you, for the relief it will afford to the women and children. I shall be very glad if you will dine with me, today; and you can then tell me how you have managed what I thought, when I first heard of your absence, was a sheer impossibility.

"Captain O'Halloran, I trust that you and Mrs. O'Halloran will also give me the pleasure of your company, at dinner, today."

"If you please, sir," Bob said, "will you give these two boatmen a pass, permitting them to go out after dark, tonight. I promised them that they should not be detained. It is of the greatest importance to them that they should get back before their absence is discovered."

"Certainly," the governor said; and at once ordered one of the officers of the staff to see that the pass was given; and orders issued, to the officers of the batteries, to allow the boat to pass out in the dark, unquestioned.

As soon as the governor walked away, with his staff, Bob was heartily greeted by Captain O'Halloran and the doctor.

"You have given us a fine fright, Bob," the former said, "and your sister has been in a desperate way about you. However, now that you have come back safe, I suppose she will forgive you.

"But what about all those fish? Are they yours? Why, there must be half a ton of them!"

"No; the men say there are five or six hundred pounds.

"Yes, they are mine. I thought of keeping a few for ourselves, and dividing the rest between the ten regiments; and sending them up, with your compliments, to their messes."

"Not with my compliments, Bob; that would be ridiculous. Send them up with your own compliments. It will be a mighty acceptable present. But you had better pick out two or three of the finest fish, and send them up to the governor.

"Now then, let us set to work. Here are plenty of porters but, first of all, we had better get ten men from the officer of the guard here; and send one off, with each of the porters with the fish, to the regiments—or the chances are that these baskets will be a good bit lighter, by the time they arrive there, than when they start. I will go and ask the officer; while you are getting the fish up here, and divided."

In a quarter of an hour the ten porters started, each with about half a hundredweight, and under the charge of a soldier. The doctor took charge of the porters with the fifteen boxes of fruit, for the various hospitals; and then—after Bob had paid the boatmen the two hundred and fifty dollars due to them, and had told them they would get the permit to enable them to sail again, as soon as it became dark—he and Captain O'Halloran started for the house, with the men in charge of the other fifteen boxes, and with one carrying the remaining fish—which weighed about the same as the other parcels.

"How did you and the doctor happen to be at Europa Point, Gerald?" Bob asked, as they went along.

"The doctor said he felt sure that whenever you did come—that is, if you came at all—you would get here somewhere about daylight; and he arranged with the officer in charge of the upper battery to send a man down, with the news, if there was a boat in sight. Directly he heard that the Spaniards were firing at a boat, he came over and called me; and we went round to the back of the Rock. We couldn't be sure that it was you from that height but, as we could make out the boxes, we thought it must be you; and so walked down to the Point, to catch you there."

"Does Carrie know that a boat was in sight?"

"No, I wouldn't say anything to her about it. She had only just dropped off to sleep, when I was called. She woke up, and asked what it was; but I said that I supposed I was wanted on duty, and she went off again before I was dressed. I was glad she did, for she hadn't closed her eyes before, since you started."

Carrie was on the terrace when she saw Bob and Gerald, followed by a procession of porters, coming up the hill. With a cry of joy she ran down into the house, and out to meet them.

"You bad boy!" she cried, as she threw her arms round Bob's neck. "How could you frighten us so? It is very cruel and wicked of you, Bob, and I am not going to forgive you; though I can't help being glad to see you, which is more than you deserve."

"You mustn't scold him, Carrie," her husband said. "Even the governor didn't scold him; and he has thanked him, in the name of the whole garrison, and he has asked him to dine with him; and you and I are to dine there too, Carrie. There is an honour for you! But what is better than honour is that there isn't a woman and child on the Rock who won't be feeling deeply grateful to Bob, before the day is over."

"Has he really got some fruit?"

"Yes. Don't you see the boxes, Carrie?"

"Oh, I saw something coming along, but I didn't see anything clearly but Bob. What are these boxes—oranges?"

"Oranges and lemons—five of oranges and ten of lemons—and there are as many more that have gone up to the hospital, for the use of the men.

"There, let us see them taken into the storeroom. You can open two of them at once, and send Manola off with a big basket; and tell her to give half a dozen of each, with your love, to each of the ladies you know. The doctor will take charge of the rest, and see about their division among all the women on the Rock. It will be quite a business, but he won't mind it."

"What is all this—fish?"

"Well, my dear, you are to take as much as you want; and you are to pick out two or three of the best, and send them to the governor, with your compliments; and the rest you can divide and send out, with the fruit, to your special friends."

"But how has Bob done it?" Carrie asked, quite overwhelmed at the sight of all those welcome stores.

"Ah, that he must tell you, himself. I have no more idea than the man in the moon."

"It has all been quite simple," Bob said. "But see about sending these things off first, Carrie. Doctor Burke will be here, after he has seen the others taken safely to the hospital; and I shall have to tell it all over again, then."

"I am very angry with the doctor," Mrs. O'Halloran said.

"Then the sooner you get over being angry, the better, Carrie. The doctor had nothing whatever to do with my going; but when he saw that I had made up my mind to go, he helped me, and I am extremely obliged to him. Now, you may have an orange for yourself, if you are good."

"That I won't," Carrie said. "Thanks to our eggs and vegetables we are perfectly well and, when there are so many people really in want of the oranges, it would be downright wicked to eat them merely because we like them."

In a short time Manola—with two of the children from downstairs, carrying baskets—started, with the presents of fruit and fish, to all the ladies of Carrie's acquaintance. Soon after she had left, Doctor Burke arrived.

"I was not going to speak to you, Teddy Burke," Mrs. O'Halloran said, shaking her head at him. "I had lost confidence in you; but with Bob back again, and all this fruit for the poor creatures who want it, I will forgive you."

"I am glad you have grace enough for that, Mrs. O'Halloran. It is down on your knees you ought to go, to thank me, if I had my rights. Isn't Bob a hero? And hasn't he received the thanks of the governor? And hasn't he saved scores of lives, this blessed day? And although it is little enough I had to do with it, isn't it the thanks of the whole garrison ought to be given me, for even the little bit of a share I had in it?"

"We have been waiting for you to come, Teddy," Captain O'Halloran said, "to hear Bob's story."

"Well then, you will have to wait a bit longer," the doctor said. "I have sent orderlies from the hospital to all the regiments—including, of course, the Artillery and Engineers—asking them to send me lists of the numbers of the women and children of the noncommissioned officers and privates, and also of officers' wives and families; and to send with the lists, here, two orderlies from each regiment, with baskets. I have been down to the town major, and got a list of the number of women and children in the town. When we get the returns from the regiments, we will reckon up the totals; and see how many there will be, for each. I think that each of the boxes holds about five hundred."

The work of counting out the oranges and lemons for the various regiments, and the townspeople, occupied some time; and it was not until the orderlies had started, with their supplies, that Bob sat down to tell his story.

"Nothing could have been easier," he said, when he finished.

"It was easy enough, as you say, Bob," the doctor said; "but it required a lot of coolness, and presence of mind. Events certainly turned out fortunately for you, but you took advantage of them. That is always the point. Nobody could have done it better, and most people would have done worse. I have been wondering myself a great deal, since you have been gone, what plan you could possibly hit on to get the oranges into a boat; and how, when you had got them in, you would manage to get them here. It seems all easy enough, now you have done it; but that is all the more creditable to you, for hitting on a plan that worked so well."

Similar praise was given to Bob when he had again to tell his story, at the governor's.

"So you managed, you say, to slip out with the reliefs?" the governor said.

"Yes, sir. I had got a military cloak, and hat."

"Still, it is curious that they did not notice an addition to their party. I fancy you must have had a friend there?"

"That, general, is a point that I would rather not say anything about. That is the way that I did go out and, when I took to the water, I let the coat and hat float away for, had they been found, it might have been supposed that somebody had deserted."

"I wish you could have brought in a shipload, instead of a boatload, of fruit, Mr. Repton. They will be of immense benefit to the sick but, unfortunately, there is scarcely a person on the Rock that is not more or less affected and, if your thirty boxes were multiplied by a hundred, it would be none too much for our needs."

The oranges and lemons did, however, for a time have a marked effect in checking the progress of the scurvy—especially among the children, who came in for a larger share than that which fell to the sick soldiers—but in another month the condition of those in hospital, and indeed of many who still managed to do duty, was again pitiable.

On the 11th of October, however, some of the boats of the fleet went out, during a fog, and boarded a Danish craft from Malaga—laden with oranges and lemons—and brought her in. The cargo was at once bought by the governor, and distributed.

The beneficial effects were immediate. Cases which had, but a few days before, appeared hopeless were cured, as if by magic; and the health of the whole garrison was reestablished. Heavy rains setting in at the same time, the gardens—upon which, for months, great attention had been bestowed—came rapidly into bearing and, henceforth, throughout the siege the supply of vegetables, if not ample for the needs of the garrison and inhabitants, was sufficient to prevent scurvy from getting any strong hold again.

A few days after the ship with oranges was brought in, an orderly came in to Captain O'Halloran with a message that the governor wished to speak to Mr. Repton. Bob was out at the time, but went up to the castle as soon as he returned, and was at once shown in to the governor.

"Mr. Repton," the latter began, "after the spirit you showed, the other day, I shall be glad to utilize your services still farther, if you are willing."

"I shall be very glad to be useful in any work upon which you may think fit to employ me, sir."

"I wish to communicate with Mr. Logie, at Tangiers," the governor said. "It is a month, now, since we have had any news from him. At the time he last wrote, he said that the Emperor of Morocco was manifesting an unfriendly spirit towards us; and that he was certainly in close communication with the Spaniards, and had allowed their ships to take more than one English vessel lying under the guns of the town. His own position was, he said, little better than that of a prisoner—for he was closely watched.

"He still hoped, however, to bring the emperor round again to our side; as he had, for years, exercised a considerable influence over him. If he would grant him an interview, Mr. Logie thought that he might still be able to clear up any doubts of us that the Spaniards might have infused in his mind. Since that letter we have heard nothing from him, and we are ignorant how matters stand, over there.

"The matter is important; for although, while the enemy's cruisers are as vigilant as at present, there is little hope of our getting fresh meat over from there, I am unable to give any directions to such privateers, or others, as may find their way in here. It makes all the difference to them whether the Morocco ports are open to them, or not. Until lately, when chased they could run in there, wait for a brisk east wind, and then start after dark, and be fairly through the Straits before morning.

"I am very desirous, therefore, of communicating with Mr. Logie. I am also anxious, not only about his safety, but of that of several English families there; among whom are those of some of the officers of the garrison who—thinking that they would be perfectly safe in Tangiers, and avoid the hardships and dangers of the siege—despatched them across the Straits by the native craft that came in, when first the port was closed.

"Thinking it over, it appeared to me that you would be far more fitted than most for this mission, if you would accept it. You have already shown yourself able to pass as a Spaniard and, should you find that things have gone badly in Tangiers, and that the Moors have openly joined the Spaniards; you might be able to get a passage to Lisbon, in a neutral ship, and to return thence in the first privateer, or ship of war, bound for this port. I would of course provide you with a document, requesting the officer in command of any such ship to give you a passage. Should no such neutral ship come along, I should trust to you to find your way across to Tarifa or Algeciras; and thence to manage in some way, which I must leave to your own ingenuity, to make your way in.

"I do not disguise from you that the commission is a very dangerous, as well as an honourable one; as were you, an Englishman, detected on Spanish soil, you would almost certainly be executed as a spy."

"I am ready to undertake the commission, sir, and I am much obliged to you for affording me the opportunity of being of service. It is irksome for me to remain here, in idleness, when there are many young officers of my own age doing duty in the batteries. As to the risk, I am quite prepared to run it. It will be exactly such an adventure as I should choose."

"Very well, Mr. Repton. Then I will send you the despatches, this evening; together with a letter recommending you to all British officers and authorities. Both will be written on the smallest pieces of paper possible, so that you may conceal them more easily.

"Now, as to the means. There are many of the fishermen here would be glad to leave. The firing in the bay has frightened the greater part of the fish away and, besides, the boats dare not go any distance from the Rock. I have caused inquiries to be made, and have given permits to three men to leave the Rock in a boat, after nightfall, and to take their chance of getting through the enemy's cruisers. It is likely to be a very dark night. I have arranged with them to take a passenger across to Tangiers, and have given them permission to take two others with them. We know that there are many Jews, and others, most anxious to leave the town before the enemy begin to bombard it; and the men will doubtless get a good price, from two of these, to carry them across the Straits.

"You will form an idea, for yourself, whether these boatmen are trustworthy. If you conclude that they are, you can make a bargain with them, or with any others, to bring you back direct. I authorize you to offer them a hundred pounds for doing so.

"Come up here at eight o'clock this evening. I will have the despatches ready for you then. You will understand that if you find the Moors have become absolutely hostile, and have a difficulty in getting at Mr. Logie, you are not to run any risk in trying to deliver the despatches; as the information you will be able to obtain will be sufficient for me, without any confirmation from him."

After further conversation, Bob took his leave of the governor. On his return home, Carrie was very vexed, when she heard the mission that Bob had undertaken and, at first, it needed all her husband's persuasions to prevent her going off to the governor's, to protest against it.

"Why, my dear, you would make both yourself and Bob ridiculous. Surely he is of an age, now, to go his own way without petticoat government. He has already gained great credit, both in his affair with the privateer, and in fetching in the oranges the other day. This is far less dangerous. Here he has only got to smuggle himself in, there he had to bring back something like a ton of oranges. It is a great honour for the governor to have chosen him. And as to you opposing it, the idea is absurd!"

"I shall go round to Major Harcourt," Bob said. "Mrs. Harcourt is terribly anxious about her daughter, and I am sure she will be glad to send a letter over to her."

"Carrie," Captain O'Halloran said gravely, "I have become a sudden convert to your opinion regarding this expedition. Suppose that Bob, instead of coming back, were to carry Amy Harcourt off to England? It would be terrible! I believe that Mr. Logie, as His Majesty's consul, could perform the necessary ceremony before they sailed."

Bob laughed.

"I should doubt whether Mr. Logie would have power to officiate, in the case of minors. Besides, there is an English church, where the banns could be duly published. No, I think we must put that off, Gerald."

Amy Harcourt was the daughter of one of the O'Hallorans' most intimate friends: and the girl, who was about fifteen years old, was often at their house with her mother. She had suffered much from the heat, early in June; and her parents had, at a time when the Spanish cruisers had somewhat relaxed their vigilance, sent her across to Tangiers in one of the traders. She was in the charge of Mrs. Colomb, the wife of an officer of the regiment, who was also going across for her health. They intended to stay at Tangiers only for a month, or six weeks; but Mrs. Colomb had become worse, and was, when the last news came across, too ill to be moved.

Major and Mrs. Harcourt had consequently become very anxious about Amy, the feeling being much heightened by the rumours of the hostile attitude of the emperor towards the English. Mrs. Harcourt gladly availed herself of the opportunity that Bob's mission offered.

"I shall be glad, indeed, if you will take a letter, Mr. Repton. I am in great trouble about her. If anything should happen to Mrs. Colomb, her position would be extremely awkward. I know that Mr. Logie will do the best he can for her but, for aught we know, he and all the English there may, at present, be prisoners among the Moors. I need not say how bitterly her father and I have regretted that we let her go; and yet, it seemed by far the best thing, at the time, for she would get an abundance of fresh meat, food and vegetables.

"Of course, you will see how she is situated, when you get there; and I am sure you will give her the best advice you can, as to what she is to do. Not knowing how they are placed there, we can do literally nothing; and you managed that fruit business so splendidly that I feel very great confidence in you."

"I am sure I shall be glad to do anything that I can, Mrs. Harcourt; and if it had been a boy, I daresay we could have managed something between us—but you see, girls are different."

"Oh, you won't find any difficulty with her. I often tell her she is as much of a boy, at present, as she is a girl. Amy has plenty of sense. I shall tell her, in my letter, about your going out to fetch in the fruit for the women and children. She is inclined to look up to you very much, already, owing to the share you had in the capture of those Spanish vessels; and I am sure she will listen to any advice you give her."

"Well, I will do my best, Mrs. Harcourt," Bob said, meekly; "but I have never had anything to do with girls, except my sister; and she gives the advice, always, and not me."

"By what she says, Bob, I don't think you always take it," Mrs. Harcourt said, smiling.

"Well, not quite always," Bob admitted. "Women are constantly afraid that you are going to hurt yourself, or something, just as if a boy had got no sense.

"Well, I will do what I can, Mrs. Harcourt. I am sure I hope that I shall find them all right, over there."

"I hope so, too," Mrs. Harcourt said. "I will see Captain Colomb. He will be sure to give you a letter for his wife. I shall talk it over with him and, if he thinks that she had better go straight home, if any opportunity offers, I shall tell Amy to go with her; and stay with my sister, at Gloucester, till the siege is over, and then she can come out again to us. I will bring you down the letters, myself, at seven o'clock."

From her, Bob went to Dr. Burke.

"I have just come from your house, Bob. I found your sister in a despondent state about you. I assured her you had as many lives as a cat; and could only be considered to have used up two or three of them, yet, and were safe for some years to come. I hinted that you had more to fear from a rope than either drowning or shooting. That made her angry, and did her good. However, it was better for me to be off; and I thought, most likely, that you would be coming round for a talk.

"So you are going officially, this time. Well, what disguise are you going to take?"

"That is what I have been thinking of. What would you recommend, doctor?"

"Well, the choice is not a very extensive one. You can hardly go as you are because, if the Moors have joined the Spaniards, you would be arrested as soon as you landed. Gerald tells me that, probably, two of the Jew traders will go away with you. If so, I should say you could not do better than dress in their style. There are many of them Rock scorpions, and talk Spanish and English equally well; but I should say that you had better take another disguise."

"That is what I was thinking," Bob said. "The boatman will know that I have something to do with the governor, and the two Jews will certainly know that I don't belong to the Rock. If they find that the Moors have joined the Spaniards, these Jews may try to get through, themselves, by denouncing me. I should say I had better get clothes with which I can pass as a Spanish sailor, or fisherman. There are almost sure to be Spanish ships, in there. There is a good deal of trade between Tangiers and Spain.

"Then again, I shall want my own clothes if I have to take passage in a neutral, to Lisbon. So I should say that I had better go down to the town, and get a sort of trader's suit, and a fisherman's, at one of the low slop shops. Then I will go as a trader, to start with; and carry the other two suits in a bag."

"That will be a very good plan, Bob. You are not likely to be noticed much, when you land. There are always ships anchored there, waiting for a wind to carry them out. They must be accustomed to sailors, of all sorts of nationalities, in the streets. However, I hope you will find no occasion for any clothes, after you land, but your own. The Moors have always been good friends of ours; and the emperor must know that the Spaniards are very much more dangerous neighbours than we are, and I can hardly believe he will be fool enough to throw us over.

"I will go down with you, to buy these things."

Bob had no difficulty in procuring the clothes he required at a secondhand shop, and then took the lot home with him. Carrie had, by this time, become more reconciled to what could not be avoided; and she laughed when Dr. Burke came in.

"You are like a bad penny, Teddy Burke. It is no use trying to get rid of you."

"Not the least bit in the world, Mrs. O'Halloran. Fortunately, I know that, however hard you are upon me, you don't mean what you say."

"I do mean it, very much; but after you are gone I say to myself, 'It is only Teddy Burke,' and think no more of it."

That evening, at nine o'clock, Bob embarked on board the fishing boat, at the New Mole. One of the governor's aides-de-camp accompanied him, to pass him through all the guards; and orders had been sent, to the officers in command of the various batteries, that the boat was not to be challenged. It was to show a light from a lantern, as it went along, in order that it might be known. The other two passengers and the boatmen had been sitting there since before gunfire, and they were glad enough when Bob came down and took his seat in the stern, taking the tiller ropes.

The oars had been muffled, and they put off noiselessly. When they got past Europa Point they found a light breeze blowing, and at once laid in their oars, and hoisted sail. A vigilant lookout was kept. Once or twice they thought they made out the hulls of anchored vessels, but they gave these a wide berth and, when the morning broke, were halfway across the Strait, heading directly for Tangiers. In another six hours they entered the port. There were half a dozen vessels lying in the harbour. Four of these were flying Spanish colours, one was a Dane, and the other a Dutchman.

From the time morning broke, Bob had been narrowly examining his fellow passengers, and the boatmen; and came to the conclusion that none of them were to be trusted. As soon as he stepped ashore, with his bag in his hand, he walked swiftly away and, passing through the principal streets, which were crowded with Moors, held steadily on, without speaking to anyone, until he reached the outskirts of the town; and then struck off among the hedges and gardens.

CHAPTER 15: BOB'S MISSION.

As soon as he found a secluded spot, he stripped off the clothes he wore and put on those of a Spanish sailor; and then, placing the others in the bag, buried it in the sandy soil—taking particular note of its position, in regard to trees and surrounding objects, so as to be able to find it again. Then he turned to the right, and skirted the town till he came down to the seashore again; and then strolled quietly back to the quays. In passing by the ships at anchor he had noticed the names of the four Spaniards and, after wandering about for a short time, he entered a wine shop and seated himself at a table, near one at which three Spanish sailors sat drinking.

From their talk, he learned that the British were shortly to be turned out of Tangiers; that the town was to be given up to the Spaniards; and that the British consul had, the day before, been taken to Sallee, where the emperor now was. The English in the town had not yet been made prisoners, but it was believed that they would be seized and handed over to the Spaniards, without delay.

Having obtained this information, Bob saw that—at any rate, for the present—he might, if he chose, appear in his own character; and regretted that he had buried his clothes, before knowing how matters stood. However, there was no help for it but to go back again, to the place where he had hidden them. This he did and, having put on his own clothes, he went straight to the consulate, which was a large house facing the port. A clerk was sitting in the office.

"I understand Mr. Logie is away," Bob said.

The clerk looked surprised, for he knew the whole of the small body of British residents well, and he could not understand how Bob could have arrived.

"I am the bearer of letters to him, from Governor Eliott," Bob said. "I came across by boat, and landed two hours ago; but I was in disguise, not knowing how matters stood here, and have but now ascertained that, so far, the English are not prisoners."

"Not at present," the clerk said. "But will you come into the house, sir? We may be disturbed here."

"In the first place," Bob asked, when they were seated in an inner room, "when do you expect Mr. Logie back, and what is the real situation? My orders are, if I cannot see Mr. Logie himself, that I am to obtain as accurate a statement as possible as to how matters are going on here; as it is important that the governor should be able to inform vessels sailing from Gibraltar, east, whether they can or can not put safely into the Moorish ports. Of course, we know that vessels have been several times taken by the Spaniards, while at anchor close to the towns; but they might risk that, if there were no danger from the Moors, themselves. But if the reports last sent by Mr. Logie are confirmed, the Moors would be openly at war with us; and would, themselves, seize and make prizes of vessels anchoring. The danger would, of course, be vastly greater than that of merely running the risk of capture, if a Spanish vessel of war happened to come into a port where they were at anchor. Of course, I am merely expressing the views of the governor."

"I am sorry to say," the clerk said, "that there is no doubt the Moors are about to join the Spaniards in formal alliance against us. Englishmen are liable to insult as they go through the street. This, however, would not go for much, by itself; but last week a number of soldiers rushed into the office, seized Mr. Logie, violently assaulted him, spat upon him, and otherwise insulted him—acting, as they said, by the express order of the emperor, himself. He is now practically a prisoner, having been taken under an escort to Sallee and, at any moment, the whole of the British colony here may be seized, and thrown into prison; and if you know what Moorish prisons are, you would know that that would mean death to most of them—certainly, I should say, to all the ladies."

"But can they not leave, in neutral vessels?"

"No. The strictest orders have been issued against any Englishman leaving; they are, in fact, so far prisoners, although nominally at liberty to move about the town.

"I believe that the greater part of the Moors regret, extremely, the course their emperor has taken. Many have come in here, after dark, to assure Mr. Logie how deeply averse they were to this course; for that the sympathies of the population, in general, were naturally with the English in their struggle against the Spaniards who had, for all time, been the deadly foe of the Moors. Unfortunately, the emperor has supreme power, and anyone who ventured to murmur against his will would have his head stuck up over a gate, in no time; so that the sympathy of the population does not count for much."

"How many English are there, altogether?"

"A hundred and four. We made up the list last week. Of course that includes men, women, and children. There are some ten merchants, most of whom have one or two clerks. The rest of the men are small traders, and shopkeepers. Some of them make their living by supplying ships that put in here with necessaries. A few, at ordinary times, trade with the Rock in livestock. Half a dozen or so keep stores, where they sell English goods to the natives."

"I have a mission to discharge to a Mrs. Colomb, or at least to a young lady living with her."

"Mrs. Colomb, I regret to say, died three weeks ago," the clerk said. "Miss Harcourt—who is, I suppose, the young lady you mean—is now, with Mrs. Colomb's servant, staying here. Mr. Logie had placed them in lodgings in the house of a Moorish trader, just outside the town; but the young lady could not remain there, alone, after Mrs. Colomb's death. I will ring the bell, and tell the servant to inform her that you are here."

Two minutes later, Bob was shown into a large sitting room on the first floor, with a verandah overlooking the sea.

"Oh, Bob Repton, I am glad to see you!" Amy Harcourt exclaimed, coming forward impulsively, with both hands held out. "It is dreadfully lonely here. Mr. Logie is away, and poor Mrs. Colomb is dead and, as for Mrs. Williams, she does nothing but cry, and say we are all going to be shut up, and starved, in a Moorish prison.

"But first, how are father and mother, and everyone at the Rock?"

"They are all quite well, Amy; though your mother has been in a great state of anxiety about you, since she got your letter saying how ill Mrs. Colomb was. Here is a letter she has given me, for you."

He handed the girl the letter, and went out on to the verandah while she read it.

"Mamma says I am to act upon Mr. Logie's advice; and that, if by any means he should not be in a position to advise me, I am to take your advice, if Mrs. Colomb is dead."

"I don't think I am in a position to give you advice, Amy. What did Mr. Logie say about the state of affairs, before he went away?"

"He seemed to think things were going on very badly. You know the soldiers rushed in here and assaulted him, one day last week. They said they had orders from the emperor to do so; and Mr. Logie said they certainly would not have dared to molest the British consul, if it hadn't been by the emperor's orders. He was talking to me about it, the day before they took him away to Sallee; and he said he would give anything, if he could get me away to the Rock, for that the position here was very precarious; and that the emperor might, at any moment, order all the English to be thrown into prison, and I know that the servants expect we shall all be killed, by the populace.

"They have frightened Mrs. Williams nearly out of her senses. I never saw such a foolish woman. She does nothing but cry. She is the wife, you know, of Captain Colomb's soldier servant.

"Well, what do you advise, Bob?"

"I am sure I don't know what to advise, Amy. This seems a regular fix, doesn't it?"

"But you are just as badly off as I am," she said. "If they seize everyone else, of course they will seize you, now you are here."

"Oh, I could get away, easily enough," Bob said. "I should dress myself up as a Spanish sailor. I have got the clothes here, and should boldly go on board one of the Spanish ships, and take passage across to any port they are going to; and then manage to work round into Gibraltar, again. But of course, you can't do that."

"I couldn't go as a Spanish sailor, of course," the girl said, "but I might dress up and go, somehow. Anything would be better than waiting here, and then being thrown into one of their dreadful prisons. They say they are awful places.

"Do take me, Bob Repton. I do so want to get back to father and mother again, and I am quite well and strong now—as well as ever I was."

Bob looked at the girl, with a puzzled expression of face. He had promised her mother to do the best thing he could for her. The question was, 'What was the best thing?' It certainly seemed that the position here was a very perilous one. If he left her here, and harm befell her, what would her parents say to him? But, on the other hand, how on earth was he to get her away?

"I tell you what, Amy," he said, after a time. "Who were the ladies Mrs. Colomb saw most of? I suppose she knew some of the people here?"

"Oh, yes, she knew several; but she was most intimate with Mrs. Hamber. She is the wife of one of the principal merchants, and is very kind. She offered to take me in, when Mrs. Colomb died; but her husband lives out of the town, and Mr. Logie had promised Mrs. Colomb that he would look after me, until he could send me across—besides, Mrs. Hamber's child is very ill, with fever—and so he brought me here."

"Well, I will go and consult her," Bob said. "I daresay the clerk downstairs will send a man with me, to show me her house."

Mrs. Hamber listened to Bob's account of his mission; asking a question now and again, in a straightforward and decided way, which gave Bob an idea that she was a resolute sort of woman, with plenty of common sense.

"Well, Mr. Repton," she said, when he had finished, "it is a difficult matter for anyone but the girl's mother to form an opinion upon. I remember hearing, from Mrs. Colomb, about your going out and bringing in fruit when the scurvy was so bad, two months ago. She had received the news, no doubt, from her husband and, therefore, it seems to me that you must be a very capable young gentleman, with plenty of courage and coolness. The fact that Mrs. Harcourt gave you such a message as she did, regarding her daughter, shows that she has every confidence in you. If the girl were a year or two older, I should say it would be quite out of the question for her to attempt to make her way back to Gibraltar, under your protection; but as she is still a mere child, and as you possess her mother's confidence, I don't see that this matters so much.

"If you are both taken prisoners, there is no reason for supposing that she would not be treated honourably by the Spaniards. They must have taken numbers of women, in the vessels they have captured lately, and I suppose the girl would be placed with them. She would, at any rate, be far better off in a Spanish prison than in a Moorish one. Besides, I really consider that all our lives are in danger, here. After the assault on Mr. Logie, it is just as likely the emperor may order us all to be massacred, as thrown into prison; or he might sell us as slaves, as they do at Algiers. There is no saying. I think that, if I were in the position of the girl's mother at Gibraltar, I should say that it was better for her to run the risk of capture, with you; than to remain here, where there is no saying what may happen—she having every confidence in your honour, young gentleman."

"I thank you, Mrs. Hamber. I have no idea, at present, what plan I shall form. I may not see any possible way of getting out but, if I do, we will certainly attempt it. Major Harcourt belongs to the same regiment as my brother-in-law, and his wife and my sister are great friends; which is why, I suppose, she has confidence in me. I have known Amy, now, for a year and a half; and she is very often at my sister's. I will take care of her just the same as if she were a young sister of my own. I don't see how I could go back and tell her mother that I left her here, with things in the state they are. I only hope they may not turn out so badly as you fear; and that, at the worst, the Moors will only hand you over as prisoners to the Spaniards."

Bob went back to the consulate, and told Amy the result of his conversation with Mrs. Hamber.

"I consider that has taken the responsibility off my shoulders, Amy. You referred me to Mrs. Hamber as the lady you knew best here. She is of opinion that, if she were your mother, she would advise your trying to get away with me. So, now, we have only to decide how it is to be done—that is, if you still wish to try."

"Certainly I do," the girl said. "Anything is better than waiting here; expecting the Moors to rush in, as they did the other day, and carry one off to prison, or kill one.

"Mr. Parrot—that is the gentleman you saw downstairs—said that you would stay here, and ordered a room to be prepared for you; and dinner is ready. I am sure you must be terribly hungry."

Bob remembered, now, that he had had nothing to eat—save some biscuits on board the boat, and a piece of bread at the wine shop—since he left Gibraltar, and that he really was desperately hungry. Amy had already had her dinner; but she sat by him, and they talked about their friends at the Rock.

"Now," he said, when he had finished, "let us have a regular council of war. It was my intention to get a passage to Malaga, if I could, because I know something of the road back from there; but I could not do that, with you."

"Why not, Bob?"

"Because the voyage is too long. Someone would be certain to speak to you before you got across and, as you can't talk Spanish, the cat would be out of the bag, directly. If possible, we must manage to cross to Tarifa. It is only a few hours across to there, even if we go in an open boat and, now that the Spaniards are friends with the Moors, there ought to be no difficulty in getting a passage across there, or to Algeciras.

"Of course, you can't go as you are," he said, looking at her rather ruefully.

"No, of course not," she said. "I am not so silly as that. I should think I had better dress up like a boy, Bob."

"That would be a great deal the best plan, if you would not mind it," Bob said, greatly relieved that the suggestion came from her. "It is the only thing that I can think of. There didn't seem any story one could invent, to account for a Spanish girl being over here; but a ship's boy will be natural enough. If asked questions, of course, our story will be that we had been left behind here. There could be lots of reasons for that. Either we might have been on shore, and the vessel gone on without us; or you might have been sent ashore ill, and I might have been left to nurse you. That wouldn't be a bad story.

"What we must do, when we get to the other side, must depend upon where we land. I mean, whether we try to get straight in by boat, or to wait about until a chance comes. Once over there, you will have to pretend to be deaf and dumb; and then you can dress up as a Spanish girl—of course, a peasant—which will be much more pleasant than going about as a boy, and better in lots of ways. So if I were you, I should take a bundle of things with me, so that we should have nothing to buy there. It is all very well buying disguises for myself, but I could never go into a shop to ask for all sorts of girls' clothes."

Amy went off in a fit of laughter, at the thought of Bob having to purchase feminine garments.

"It is all very well to laugh," Bob said. "These are the sort of little things that are so difficult to work in. It is easy enough to make a general plan, but the difficulty is to get everything to fit in.

"I will have a talk with Mr. Parrot, in the morning, about the boats. He will know what boats have been trading with the Rock, and what men to trust."

"You can talk to him now, if you like," the girl said. "He and Mr. Logie's other clerk have the top storey of the house."

"Oh, then I will go up and see him, at once; the sooner it is arranged, the better. If things are in the state that everyone says, you might all be seized and imprisoned, any day."

Bob went up at once to Mr. Parrot's rooms, and had a long talk with him. The clerk quite agreed that anything would be better than for a young girl to be shut up in a Moorish prison, but he did not see how it was possible for them to find their way across to Gibraltar.

"Many of our fishermen are most courageous fellows, and have run great risks in taking letters from Mr. Logie across to Gibraltar. I do not suppose that the blockade is very much more strict than it was; and indeed, the fact that you got through shows that, with good luck, the thing is possible enough. But that is not the difficulty. The strictest order has been issued that no boat is to take Englishmen across to the Rock, or is to cross the Straits on any pretence, whatever; and that anyone evading this law will be executed, and his goods forfeited to the state. That is how it is Mr. Logie has been able to send no letters, for the last month; and why none of the merchants, here, have tried to get across to the Rock. No bribe would be sufficient to tempt the boatmen. It would mean not only death to themselves, if they ever returned; but the vengeance of the authorities would fall on their relations, here. I am afraid that there is nothing to be done, that way, at all."

"There are the three men who brought me across, this morning," Bob said. "They might be bribed to take us back. The governor authorized me to offer a hundred pounds. I own that I don't like their looks."

"You would have some difficulty in finding them, to begin with," Mr. Parrot said; "and I don't think a hundred pounds would be likely to tempt them to run the risk."

"I would not mind giving them two hundred more," Bob said. "I have got that money, of my own, at Gibraltar; and I am sure, if it were necessary, Major Harcourt would gladly pay as much more to get his daughter back."

"Three hundred would be ample. If they would not run the risk for a hundred apiece, nothing would tempt them. I should say your best plan would be to go down, early tomorrow, and see if you can find one of them. They are likely to be loitering about by the quays, as they have their boat there.

"The question is, are they to be trusted? They know that you have been sent out by the governor, and that you are here on some special business; and they may very well think that the Spaniards will give a higher reward, for you, than you can give to be taken back. They will, by this time, know of the order against boats crossing; and might betray you to the Moors. If you were going by yourself, of course, you could take all sorts of risks; but with this young lady under your protection, it would be different."

"Yes, I see that, Mr. Parrot. Rather than run any risk, I should prefer being put ashore at any Spanish port, by one of the ships in the harbour. If you give me the name of any Spanish merchantman who was here, say, a fortnight ago; my story that we were left behind, owing to one of us being ill, would be so simple that there need be no suspicion, whatever, excited. Tarifa or Algeciras would, of course, be the best places, as we should only be on board a few hours; and Miss Harcourt could very well pretend to be still ill and weak, and could lie down in a corner, and I could cover her up with a blanket till we got there.

"Once across, I don't so much mind. Even if we were detected, we should simply be two fugitives from here, trying to make our way to Gibraltar; and I don't think there would be any question of my being a spy. We should probably be sent to wherever they keep the English prisoners they have taken in ships; and there would be nothing very dreadful in that, even for her. We should probably be exchanged, before long. There have been several batches sent in to the Rock, in exchange for prisoners taken in prizes brought in by privateers."

"Well, I really think that that would be the best way, Mr. Repton. As you say, there will be nothing very dreadful in detention for a while, with the Spaniards; while there is no saying what may happen here. If you like, I will send one of the consulate servants out, the first thing in the morning, to inquire what ports the Spanish craft are bound for, and when they are likely to sail. They seldom stop more than two or three days, here. Most of them are taking livestock across for the use of the Spanish army and, though Algeciras would be an awkward place for you to land at because, if detected there, you would be more likely to be treated as a spy; still, in a busy place like that, no one would notice a couple of young sailors, and it would be no great distance for you to walk over to Tarifa, or any of the villages on the Straits.

"But how do you propose to get in from there? That is what seems to me the great difficulty."

"Well, I got in before," Bob said, "and do not think that there ought to be much difficulty in getting hold of a boat. If I did, I should sail round the Point and, keeping well outside the line of cruisers, come down on the coast the other side of Gibraltar; and so work along at night, just as I did before. If I found it absolutely impossible to get a boat, of course, I could not—with the girl with me—try to swim across from the head of the bay to the Rock; which is what I should have done, had I been alone. So I should then go to the authorities and give myself up; and say that, being afraid that the Moors intend to massacre all the English at Tangiers, I had come across with this young lady, who is the daughter of an officer of the garrison, to put her into Spanish hands; knowing that there she would receive honourable treatment, till she could be passed in at the next exchange of prisoners."

"I think that would be your very best course to pursue, unless you find everything turn out just as you would wish, Mr. Repton."

When Bob came down in the morning, he at once went into the office below; and Mr. Parrot told him that one of the Spanish craft would start for Algeciras, at noon.

"Then I must ask you to send one of the servants out, to buy some clothes such as are worn by a Spanish sailor boy, Mr. Parrot. I have my own suit upstairs, and will go off and arrange for a passage across, directly after breakfast."

"I will see to it," Mr. Parrot said. "The ship's decks will be crowded up with cattle. She is a small craft, and I hear she will take as many as can be packed on her deck. She is alongside now, taking them in. There is not much likelihood of any attention, whatever, being paid to you and your companion."

Amy turned a little pale, when Bob told her that the attempt was to be made at once; but she said bravely:

"I am glad there is to be no waiting. I do so long to be out of this town. I daresay I shall be a little nervous at first, but I shall try not to show it; and I sha'n't be really frightened, for I know that you will take care of me."

As soon as breakfast was over, Bob changed his things and went down to the quay. He stopped at the vessel taking cattle on board. She was a polacre brig, of about a hundred and fifty tons. The captain was smoking a cigar, aft; while the mate was seeing to the storing of the cattle. Bob went on board, and told his story to the captain.

"I was left behind in charge of a cabin boy from the Esmeralda, a fortnight ago. The boy had fever, and the captain thought it might be infectious, and put him ashore; but he soon got well. We want to be taken across, as our friends live not many miles from Tarifa. We will pay a dollar, apiece, for our passage."

The captain nodded.

"Be on board by noon; we shall not be a minute later."

Bob went ashore, and told Amy that everything was arranged, without the slightest difficulty. He then went down to inspect the clothes.

"They will do very well," he said, "except that they are a great deal cleaner than anything ever seen on a Spanish sailor. Those canvas trousers will never do, as they are."

He accordingly took some ashes, and rubbed them well into the canvas; got some grease from the kitchen, and poured two or three large patches over the trousers.

"That is more like it," he said. "The shirt will do well enough, but there must be a patch or two of grease upon the jacket, and some smears of dirt, of some kind."

When he had done them to his satisfaction, he took them upstairs.

"What horrid, dirty looking things!" Amy exclaimed, in disgust.

"They are clean enough inside, child. They are quite new; but I have been dirtying them, outside, to make them look natural.

"You must be dressed by half past eleven, and you can tuck your hair up under that red nightcap; but you must manage to dirty your face, neck, and hands. You really ought to have some brown stain, but I don't suppose it is to be got. I will speak to Mr. Parrot."

"There is no stain, that I know of," Mr. Parrot said; "but I know Mr. Logie paints a little. I think you will find a box of colours, upstairs. If you mix some Vandyke brown in water, and paint her with it, and let it dry on, I should think it would do very well; though of course, it wouldn't stand washing."

Bob found the paintbox, and soon mixed some paint. At half past eleven Amy came into the room, laughing a little shyly.

"That will do very well," Bob said, encouragingly, "except that you are a great deal too fair and clean.

"Look here, I have been mixing some paint. I think a wash of that will make all the difference. Now, sit down while I colour you.

"That will do capitally!" he said, when he finished. "I think, when it dries, it will be just about the right shade for a Spanish sailor boy.

"Have you got your bundle?

"That is right. Now here is my bag, and a couple of black Moorish blankets. I will bring Mr. Parrot up, to say goodbye.

"Have you told your servant?"

"No, I said nothing to her about it. She would make such a terrible fuss, there would be no getting away from her. We must ask Mr. Parrot to tell her, after the vessel has set sail."

Mr. Parrot pronounced the disguise excellent, and said that he should not have the slightest suspicion that she was anything but what she seemed to be. Amy felt very shy, as she sallied out with Bob; but she gained courage as she saw that no one noticed her.

When they arrived at the brig, the cattle were nearly all on board. Bob led the way across the gangway, and went up on to the fo'castle. There he laid one of the blankets down against a stanchion; wrapped Amy in the other, so that her face was almost hidden; and told her to sit down and close her eyes, as if weak or asleep. Then he took up his post beside her.

In a quarter of an hour the last bullock was on board. The gangway was at once hauled in, the hawsers thrown off, and the sails let drop and, in another minute, the vessel was gliding away from the wharf. The wind was nearly due west, and the sheets were hauled in as she was headed across the Straits. It was half an hour before the sailors' work was all done. Several of them came up on to the fo'castle and began twisting cigarettes, and one at once entered into conversation with Bob.

"Is the boy ill?" he said.

"Yes, he has been ill, but is better now. It would have been better if he could have stopped a few days longer, but he was pining to get home. He won't have far to go when we get to Algeciras and, no doubt, I shall be able to get him a lift in some cart that will be bringing provisions to the camp."

The talk at once turned on the siege, the sailors expressing their certainty that the Rock would soon be taken. Bob had moved away from Amy, as if to allow her to sleep, undisturbed by the conversation.

"There is a brig running down the Straits, at a good speed," one of the sailors said, when they were half way across. "It is a nice breeze for her."

Bob looked at the craft. She was about a mile away, and by the course they were steering—almost at right angles—would come very near to them. There was something familiar in her appearance, and he looked at her intently, examining every sail and shroud. Then doubt became certainty, as his eye fell upon a small patch in one of the cloths of the topgallant sail.

It was the Antelope. One of the Spanish shot had passed through the topgallant sail and—as that was the only injury that sail had received—the bit had been cut out, and a fresh one put in, before she sailed again from Gibraltar. She was flying Spanish colours.

His heart beat fast. Would she overhaul them, or pass without taking notice of them—seeing that the polacre was a small one, and not likely to be a valuable prize?

The vessels approached each other quickly. The course the Antelope was taking would carry her some length or two behind the Spaniard. Bob hesitated whether to hail her, as she came along. If his hail was not heard he would, of course, be detected, and his plans entirely spoilt; and with the wind blowing straight across, and he in the bow, it would be by no means certain that his hail would be distinguished. Suddenly, to his delight, when the brig was within a hundred yards of the polacre he saw her head come up, while the crew began to haul upon the sheets.

An exclamation of surprise and alarm broke from the Spaniards as, in another minute, the Antelope was running parallel with them, a cable's length to windward. Then the portholes were opened, and eight guns run out. The Spanish flag was run down and the British hoisted to the peak; and a summons to strike their flag shouted to the Spaniards. As the latter carried only four small guns, resistance was out of the question. The Spanish flag was lowered and, in obedience to the gesticulations, rather than the words, of an officer on board the English brig, the halliards were thrown off, and the sails came down with a run.

The Spanish sailors were frantic with rage, swearing by all the saints in the calendar. Bob had moved, at once, across to Amy.

"Lie still, Amy. We are going to be captured by an English ship. It is the same privateer that I was in before. Don't make any sign, until they come on board. In the fury that these Spaniards are in, they might stick their knives into us, if they knew we were English."

The brig had been thrown up into the wind as soon as the polacre's sails had been lowered and, in three minutes, a boat came alongside. Then Joe Lockett, followed by half a dozen sailors armed with pistol and cutlass, scrambled on board.

"Now, follow me, Amy," and, descending the ladder, Bob made his way along the narrow gangway between the lines of cattle, and then mounted to the poop.

"Well, Joe, how are you?"

The first mate of the Antelope started back, in astonishment.

"Why, Bob Repton!" he exclaimed. "What on earth are you doing here, masquerading as a Spanish sailor?"

"I am trying to get across to Gibraltar," he said.

"Why, is this fellow bound for Gibraltar? In that case we have not got a prize, as we fancied."

"She is a fair prize, Joe; she is bound for Algeciras. I was going to make my way in from there, as best I could."

"That is all right then. What has she got on board?"

"Nothing beyond these cattle, and some vegetables, I expect; but they are worth a lot of money, on the Rock."

"Well, you will be able to tell us all about things, Bob. I will hail the captain to send Crofts on board, with a dozen men to take charge, here; and then I will take you on board."

"I have a friend here," Bob said, turning to Amy, who was standing timidly behind him, "so you must take him with me."

"All right!" Joe said, carelessly.

In five minutes, Bob stood again on the deck of the Antelope, and a hearty greeting was exchanged between him and Captain Lockett.

"Before I tell you anything, Captain, which cabin am I to have? I will tell you why, afterwards. I suppose it will be my old one?"

"Yes; that is our one spare cabin, Bob. But I don't know why you are in such a hurry about it."

"I will tell you presently," Bob laughed, and led the way below.

"There, Amy," he said, "you can go in there, and put on your own things again. I thought it would be more comfortable, for you, for them not to know it until you are properly dressed, in your own clothes. You have brought a frock, of course?"

"Yes; I thought I had better bring one, in case we should be made prisoners."

"That is all right. When you are dressed, come upon deck. I will explain all about it, before you appear."

Bob, as briefly as possible, told his story to Captain Lockett and Joe; who were much amused to find that Bob's friend was a young lady.

"You are coming out in quite a new light, Bob, as a squire of dames. But I won't laugh at you, now; I want to hear the last news. I overhauled that craft, not so much to capture her, as to get the last news. There were reports, before I started, that the Moors were joining the Spaniards, and that their ports were closed to us; and what you say confirms that. That was one of the points I wanted to know, as I could not tell whether I could run in there safely, were I chased. Now, as to getting into the Rock, are their cruisers active, at present?"

"Well, there are lots of them about. I think your best plan will be to run in close to the Point, and hold on as if you were going into Algeciras. In that way, they won't suspect you. Then, when you get right up the bay, haul across to the town. The wind is in your favour, because you will have to tack to work up the bay and, if you make pretty long tacks, they won't suspect you, when you start across, until you have got pretty well away and, with this breeze, there will be no chance of their catching you before you are under our guns."

"That seems hopeful enough. At any rate, we will try it. I will send six more men on board the polacre. They will want to be handy with her sails. I will go myself, and give Crofts orders. He had better keep ahead of us for, if we are chased by their gunboats, we can protect him."

Just as sail was again got up, and the two vessels were under way, Amy Harcourt came on deck; and was soon laughing and chatting merrily with the captain. At four in the afternoon they rounded the Point, the polacre a few hundred yards ahead, and both flying Spanish colours. There were several Spanish cruisers, and some gunboats, outside them; but these paid no attention to their movements, and both beat up the bay, keeping close into the Spanish shore, but holding somewhat farther out, at each tack.

"Now," Captain Lockett, said when they were within half a mile of Algeciras, "we will run out this tack. There are two gunboats in our way, I see, but we must take our chance of them.

"Go and wave a handkerchief from the bow, Joe. Mr. Crofts will be on the lookout for the signal."

The two vessels held away on the port tack. As the polacre approached the gunboats, a sudden bustle was observed on board them.

"They begin to smell a rat," Captain Lockett said.

"Hoist the topgallant sails," for the brig had been under easy sail, to enable her to hold her place with the polacre.

The men were already at quarters, and the ports were opened and the guns run out. Just as the gunboat nearest the polacre—finding the hail, for her to bring to, unheeded—fired a shot into her, the brig's head paid off, and she poured a broadside into the two gunboats. One of them was struck amidships. For a minute there was great confusion on board, and then she made for her companion, evidently in a sinking condition.

Several shots were now fired from the forts but, though they fell near, the brig was uninjured. The second gunboat did not venture to attack so formidable an opponent and, half an hour later, the Antelope and her prize dropped anchor off the Mole.

Bob had already run down and put on his usual clothes, and he and Amy were at once rowed ashore, and made their way to Major Harcourt's quarters. The delight of Amy's father and mother, as she rushed into the room, was extreme. Bob did not enter with her, but left her to tell her own story; and proceeded straight to the governor's, to whom he reported the state of affairs at Tangier.

"It is bad news," the governor said. "However, I am extremely obliged to you, for the valuable service that you have rendered and, as I had the pleasure of before doing, when you brought in the oranges, I shall place your name in the orders of the day for having, as a volunteer, rendered signal service by carrying despatches, at great risk, across to the Barbary coast."

Bob then returned home. Captain Lockett had already been to the house, and informed the O'Hallorans of his arrival.

"There you see, Carrie," Bob said, after his sister's first greetings were over; "there was nothing to have been so terribly alarmed about."

"It isn't because you got through it safely, Bob, that there was no danger," his sister replied. "It was a very foolish thing to do, and nothing will change my opinion as to that.

"Captain Lockett tells me you brought Amy Harcourt back with you, dressed up as a boy. I never heard of such a thing, Bob! The idea of a boy like you—not eighteen yet—taking charge, in that way, of a young girl!"

"Well, there was nothing else to do, Carrie, that I could see. I went to Mrs. Hamber, who was Mrs. Colomb's most intimate friend, and asked her opinion as to what I had better do; and she advised me to get Amy away, if I possibly could do so. I can't see what difference it makes, whether it is a boy or a girl. It seems to me that people are always so stupid about that sort of thing."

Carrie laughed.

"Well, never mind, Bob. Amy Harcourt is a very nice girl. A little too boyish, perhaps; but I suppose that is natural, being brought up in the regiment. I am very glad that you have brought her back again, and it will be an immense relief to her father and mother. Her mother has been here three or four times, during these two days you have been away; and I am in no way surprised at her anxiety. They will be in here this evening, certainly, to thank you."

"Very well; then I shall be round smoking a cigar, with the doctor," Bob said. "I am very glad to have been of use to them, and to have got Amy back again; but I don't want to be thanked, and you tell them so. I hate being made a fuss about."

And so, beyond a warm grasp of the hand, on the part of Major Harcourt; and two or three words of hearty thanks, on that of his wife, the next time they met; Bob escaped any expression of gratitude. But the occurrence drew the two families together more closely, and Amy often came round with her father and mother, in the evening; and there were many little confidential talks between Carrie and Mrs. Harcourt.

It was some time before the anxiety as to the fate of the English inhabitants, at Tangier, was allayed. They were, at the beginning of December, forced to remove to Marteen, a few miles from Tetuan—abandoning their houses and all their property, which was estimated at the value of sixty thousand pounds—and, three days afterwards, were handed over as prisoners to the Spaniards. They were then put on board a ship, and taken to Algeciras—where they were kept, for nearly a month, prisoners on board ship—but were, on the 11th of January, 1781, sent across to Gibraltar.

The next five months passed slowly and heavily. Occasionally, privateers and other craft ran through the blockade of the Spanish cruisers, and succeeded in getting into port. Some of these brought wine and sugar—of both of which the garrison were extremely short—and occasionally a few head of cattle and other provisions. All of these were sold by public auction, the governor considering that to be the fairest way of disposing of them.

On the 12th of April another great convoy, under Admiral Darby, entered the port. It consisted of about a hundred merchantmen, under the protection of a powerful fleet. The joy of the garrison and inhabitants was intense although, among the latter, this was mingled with a certain feeling of uneasiness. Deserters had at various times brought in reports that, should Gibraltar be again relieved, it was the purpose of the Spaniards to bombard the town. Hopes were entertained that so wanton an act of cruelty would not be carried out, for the entire destruction of the town would not advance, in the smallest degree, the progress of the siege.

At a quarter to eleven, just as the van of the convoy came to an anchor off the New Mole, Fort San Philip opened fire upon the town and, at the signal, the whole of the batteries in the forts and lines followed suit. A hundred and fourteen guns and mortars rained their shot and shell upon the town, and the guns of the batteries of the garrison at once responded.

Several of the officers of the 58th, and their wives, had come up to Captain O'Halloran's to enjoy, from the terrace, the view of the great convoy entering the port. All were in the highest spirits, at the thought of the abundant supplies that would now be at their disposal; and in the belief that the Spaniards, seeing that the garrison was again amply provisioned, would abandon the siege, which had now lasted for twenty-two months. Suddenly there came upon the air the deep sound of the guns of San Philip, followed by a prolonged roar as the whole of the Spanish batteries opened fire. The hum of shot could be heard, followed by the explosion of shells, the fall of masonry, and screams and cries.

"The bombardment has begun, at last!" Captain O'Halloran exclaimed.

The greatest consternation reigned among the ladies. Several of them had left children in their quarters and, although the barracks were so placed as to be, to a great extent, sheltered from the enemy's fire from the land side, they were still terribly anxious as to their safety. Two of them had, like the O'Hallorans, quarters in the town itself; and the husbands of these ladies, accompanied by Captain O'Halloran and Bob, at once set out to bring the children up to the house, which was perfectly sheltered.

The scene in the town was a pitiful one. Men, women, and children were flying, in the wildest alarm, towards the gate looking south; and thence out to the huts that the more prudent ones had erected, many months before, near Europa Point. Shot and shell were raining down, while chimneys and portions of masonry fell clattering in the streets. Sick people were being carried out, on doors or planks; and most of the inhabitants were laden with what few articles of value they could snatch up, at the first alarm. The children were soon brought up to the O'Hallorans' and then, for a time, there was nothing to do but to listen to the roar of artillery.

The officers and Bob ascended the Rock, to a point near one of the batteries, whence they could command a view of the Spanish lines. The flashes of smoke were bursting forth almost incessantly; but were answered shot for shot from the English batteries, which had already almost silenced the San Carlos Battery, which mounted a large number of mortars, and against which the fire of the English guns was concentrated.

Between one and two o'clock the Spanish fire abated, and soon ceased altogether. The inhabitants took advantage of the lull to hurry back to their houses, whence they removed the lighter and more portable articles; but the heavy stores—of which it now appeared many of them had large quantities concealed—they were, of course, unable to take away.

The discovery of these stores excited much indignation among the troops. The inhabitants had been constantly representing themselves as reduced to the last point of hunger, and had frequently received provisions from the scanty supplies of the garrison; and the soldiers were exasperated on finding that, all this time, they possessed great stores of wine, flour, and other articles; which they were hoarding to produce, and sell, when prices should rise to even more exorbitant heights than they had already reached.

At five o'clock the enemy's batteries opened again; and the firing continued, without intermission, all that night. As several casualties had taken place, in the barracks and quarters; marquees were, on the following morning, served out to all the officers whose quarters were exposed to fire, and these were pitched near Europa Point, as were also a large number of tents for the use of the inhabitants.

A considerable body of troops were kept under arms, near the northern gate, in case the Spaniards should attempt to make an assault under cover of their fire; and five hundred officers and men were told off, to assist in the work of getting the supplies up from the wharves, as fast as they were landed from the transports.

The bombardment continued during the whole of the next two days. The mortars still poured their shells upon the town; but the guns were now directed at our batteries, and their fire was remarkably accurate.

On the 14th the unloading parties were increased to a thousand men, and strong detachments of troops were told off to extinguish the fires in the town; as the enemy were now discharging shell filled with a composition that burned with great fury, igniting everything with which it came in contact. The troops engaged upon this duty were not long in broaching the casks of wine found, in such abundance, in many of the ruined houses. For two years they had been living almost entirely on salt provisions, and wine had been selling at prices vastly beyond their means. It was scarcely surprising, then, that they should take advantage of this opportunity.

The stores were practically lost, for the whole town was crumbling to pieces beneath the fire of the enemy's mortars, and was on fire in several places; and little, if any, of the liquor and stores consumed could, in any case, have been saved. However, for a time insubordination reigned. The troops carried off liquor to their quarters, barricaded themselves there, and got drunk; and it was two or three days before discipline was restored. Up to this time the conduct of the soldiers had been most exemplary, and they had borne their prolonged hardships without a murmur; and this outbreak was due as much to a spirit of revenge against the inhabitants, for hiding away great stores of provisions and liquor, with a view to making exorbitant profits, as from a desire to indulge in a luxury of which they had been so long deprived.

On the 15th the enemy's fire was hotter than ever; and the guns were withdrawn from our batteries, as they produced but little effect upon the Spanish batteries, and the men working them suffered a good deal from the besiegers' fire. Two officers were dangerously wounded, in one of the casemates of the King's Bastion; and the fire was so heavy, around some of the barracks, that all the troops who could not be disposed of, in the casemates and bomb-proofs, were sent out of the town and encamped southward and, the next day, all the women and children who had gone with their husbands and fathers into the casemates were also removed, and placed under canvas. All this gave incessant work to the troops, for there was no level ground upon which the tents could be pitched and, as it was therefore necessary to level all the ground into terraces, it was some days before the camps were ranged in anything like order.

Each day the enemy sent out their gunboats to harass the merchantmen, but these were always driven back by the guns of the fleet. On the 17th the besiegers' shells set fire to the Spanish church, which had been used as a storehouse. Strong parties were sent down to remove the provisions, which consisted largely of barrels of flour. These were carried up and piled, so as to afford protection to the casemates, which had been frequently entered by the enemy's shots—several men having been killed there. They proved a valuable defence; and afforded, moreover, great amusement to the soldiers who, whenever a barrel was smashed by a shell, carried off the contents and quickly converted them into pancakes, until so many casks had been emptied that the whole structure came toppling down.

On the 18th a shell came through the arch of one of the casemates, killing two and wounding four men and, in consequence, a good many more of the troops were sent under canvas.

On the 20th the work of unloading the greater portion of the transports was completed; and the admiral, who was most anxious to take advantage of the easterly wind, that was blowing, to sail out of the Straits, gave the signal for departure. Many of the merchantmen, whose cargoes were consigned to merchants and traders on the Rock, carried them back to England; as the merchants, having no place, whatever, in which to store goods—for the town was now almost entirely destroyed—refused to accept them. The transports, with ordnance stores, were brought in behind the New Mole to be discharged at leisure; while several colliers were run close in, and scuttled, so that their cargoes could be removed as required.

A great many of the inhabitants, and of the officers' wives and families, embarked on board the fleet before it left. The enemy's fire still continued very heavy; and their guns and mortar boats, on the 23rd, came boldly out and opened fire upon the working parties, who were stacking the barrels and stores at the south end of the Rock. The wife of a soldier was killed, and several men wounded.

On the 26th the governor determined sternly to repress the drunkenness that still prevailed, owing to the soldiers going down among the ruins of the town, where they occasionally discovered uninjured casks of wine. An order was therefore issued, on that day, that any soldier convicted of being drunk, asleep at his post, or marauding, should be immediately shot.

On the 27th a convoy of twenty ships, in charge of the Brilliant and three other frigates, came in from Minorca; where the governor had ordered provisions to be purchased, in case the convoy expected from England did not arrive. The arrival of these ships largely added to the stores at the disposal of the garrison.

CHAPTER 16: A CRUISE IN THE BRILLIANT.

While the bombardment continued, Bob had been constantly occupied. He had, some time before, put down his name as a volunteer for service, if required; and he and several others, who had similarly enrolled themselves, had been appointed to assist in looking after the removal of the soldiers' wives and children to the tents erected for them, and to seeing to their comfort there. He had also been in charge of bodies of labourers, employed by the governor in the work of levelling the ground and transporting stores.

Captain O'Halloran was constantly away on duty and, soon after the bombardment began, it was found necessary to drive the whole of the poultry into the lower part of the house; the Spaniards retaining only one room for their own accommodation. Had not this step been taken, the chickens would speedily have been stolen by marauders as, in the absence of Captain O'Halloran and Bob, there was no one to protect them. After the issue of the governor's proclamation, discipline was speedily restored, and there was no longer any occasion to keep them under shelter.

The bombardment was followed by heavy rains, which caused very great discomfort to the troops. The water, pouring in torrents down the face of the hills, swept away the newly raised banks; and brought down the tents, the soldiers having to turn out in the wet—and as the troops, owing to their heavy duties, were only one night out of three in bed, the discomfort and annoyance were very great. Great quantities of the provisions, too, were damaged; as these were all stacked in the open air, with no other covering than that afforded by the sails of the colliers, which were cut off and used for the purpose. Until the end of the month the downfall of rain was incessant, and was accompanied with heavy storms of thunder and lightning. The batteries required constant repair, and the labours of the troops were very severe.

Since the departure of Admiral Darby's fleet, the enemy appeared to have given up all hopes of compelling the place to surrender by hunger. The convoy from Minorca had not been interfered with and, on the 2nd of May, two native craft came in from Algiers with sheep, wine, and brandy, unmolested by the enemy's cruisers.

The enemy's fire had never entirely ceased, since the commencement of the bombardment, and now amounted to about fifteen hundred rounds, every twenty-four hours; the gunboats generally coming out, every day, and sending their missiles into the town and batteries—the latter being specially the mark of the enemy's land guns, which reached even the highest batteries on the Rock. All through May and June the enemy's fire continued; dropping, towards the end of the latter month, to about five hundred shot and shell a day. The gunboats were specially annoying, directing their fire against the south end of the Rock, and causing great alarm and distress among the fugitives from the town encamped there. Occasionally they directed their fire towards the houses that had escaped the fire of the land batteries; and several shot and shell fell near the O'Hallorans' but, fortunately, without hitting the house.

The volunteers had now been released from duty, and Bob was free to wander about as he pleased. As, since his exploit in fetching in the fruit, he had become known to every officer in the garrison; he was a privileged person, and was able to enter any of the batteries, and to watch the effects of their fire against the enemy's forts and lines. He often spent the day on board the Brilliant. At the end of June the frigate went away for a fortnight's cruise, and the captain invited Bob to accompany them.

"We shall all expect great things from you, Mr. Repton. As you managed to capture some fifty thousand pounds' worth of prizes, when you were on board that privateer brig, you ought to put the frigate into the way of taking at least four times as much."

"It is easy to turn a brig into anything, Captain Langton; but there is no making one of His Majesty's frigates look other but what she is. The mere sight of your topsails is enough to send every Spanish craft into port."

For three or four days the frigate sailed along the coast; keeping well out during the day, and closing with the land in the evening. Two or three small coasters were picked up by the boats, but they were scarcely worth sending into Gibraltar. On the fifth day a large barque was seen, making in from the south. All sail was made, but the barque had the weather gage and, crossing her, ran into the shore and anchored under the shelter of a battery.

"That would be a prize worth having, Bob," Jim Sankey said. "I wonder what she has got on board? Perhaps she is like that craft you captured, choke-full of lead and silver, from Lima."

"I think I can tell you what she is full of," Bob, who had been examining her through a glass he had borrowed from the third lieutenant, replied.

"How do you mean you can tell, Bob? She has not got her bill of lading stuck upon her broadside, I suppose?"

"She has not, Jim. But I can tell you, without that."

"Well, what has she got on board?"

"She has got a very strong crew, Jim, and twenty-four guns."

"Why, how on earth did you know that, Bob?" he asked, staring at his friend in surprise.

"Because, Jim, I have been on board, and counted the guns. That is the craft I swam off to, nearly two years ago. You hunted for her, then, you know; but I suppose she had gone into one of the ports. But that is her, I can almost swear.

"I don't know whether there is a better glass than this on board but, if there is, I should be glad to have a look through it. Yet I feel certain, without that. Her stern is of rather peculiar shape, and that stern gallery looks as if it was pinched out of her, instead of being added on. We particularly noticed that, when we were sailing with her. I can't be mistaken about it."

"I think the captain ought to know, then," Jim said. "I will speak to Mr. Rawdon. He is in charge of the watch."

Jim went up on to the quarterdeck, touched his hat, and informed the second lieutenant what Bob had told him. Mr. Rawdon went up at once to the captain, who was talking to the first lieutenant, and examining the barque and battery through his glass.

"Mr. Sankey has reported to me, sir, that Mr. Repton is very strongly of opinion that the barque, there, is the Spanish ship of war he boarded by night, just after the beginning of hostilities. He told us about it, sir, and we spent two or three days in looking for her."

"Of course I remember," the captain said. "Have the kindness to pass the word for Mr. Repton to come aft."

Bob soon stood before the captain.

"Mr. Rawdon tells me that you are of opinion that the barque, in there, is the disguised Spanish sloop you boarded, two years ago?"

"Yes, sir, I am almost sure of it; but I should like to have another look at her, through your glass, before I speak with certainty."

The captain handed his glass, which was a remarkably good one, to Bob.

"That is her," Bob said, after a minute's examination. "I could swear to her, anywhere;" and he then pointed out, to the captain, the peculiarities he had noticed.

"I can make out her figurehead, too," he said. "It is a saint, though I don't know what saint; but if you notice, sir, you will see that, instead of standing nearly upright, he leans much more forward than usual. I remember the captain saying he looked as if he was going to take a header. So with that, and the stern gallery, there is no possibility of mistaking her."

The captain again examined the barque through his glass.

"Yes, I notice both the points you mention. Well, I am much obliged to you for the news. It is very important. I was thinking of cutting her out, tonight; and should have fallen into the same error you so nearly did, in the privateer."

Bob bowed and retired.

"We should have caught a tartar, Mr. Lyons, if we had sent the force we were talking about to cut her out; but I think we must have her, somehow."

"I hope so, sir. We have had a very dull time of it; with nothing to do but to exchange shots, occasionally, with those gunboats; and to get under sail, now and then, to escort some craft or other into port. The navy hasn't done much to boast of, during this siege; and it has been very hard on us, being cooped up there in Gibraltar, while the fleet all over the world are picking up prizes, and fighting the French and Spanish. Why, we haven't made enough prize money, in the last two years, to pay for pipe clay and powder."

"Yes, we all feel that, Mr. Lyons. We have certainly been terribly out of luck. That privateer Mr. Repton was on board did more, in her week's cruise, than all His Majesty's ships in Gibraltar have done, in the last two years.

"We must take that craft, inshore, if we can. There is no doubt she is ably commanded, for she is so well disguised that we never suspected her for a moment; therefore there is not the least chance of our catching her napping. She is a formidable craft to cut out with the boats, even if she hadn't the aid of the battery."

"There is no doubt about that, sir. I think Mr. Repton reported, before, that she carried twenty-four guns, and all heavy metal. As far as I can make out, with the glass, the battery mounts twelve guns."

"Yes, that is the number. Besides, you see, we dare not take the frigate in nearer than a mile; and a mile and a quarter would be safer. So that we could not be of any assistance, beyond annoying the battery with long shot. It seems to me that there is only one chance."

"What is that, sir?"

"We must land a strong party, some distance along the shore; and make an attack upon the battery, and carry it by surprise. I can make out some huts behind it. I suppose they wouldn't have less than a hundred soldiers there—perhaps a hundred and fifty. If we can drive them off, and capture the battery, we can open fire down upon the ship. At that distance, we could fairly sweep her deck with grape.

"The rest of our boats would be lying ahead and astern of her and, as soon as the battery opened, they could make a dash for her. The crew of the barque would be so disorganized, by the fire of the battery, that they should hardly be able to make very much of a fight of it."

"That seems a capital plan, sir. The only question is the number of hands. Suppose you send eighty to take the battery; we should only have as many more to spare, for the boat attack on the ship; and that would leave us with only a hundred, on board. I should think she would carry a fighting crew of two hundred, at least. These Spaniards are always very strongly manned."

"I should think that would be about it. They are long odds, but not too long, I think, Mr. Lyons. At any rate, we will try.

"Lay her off the land, Mr. Lyons, then we will go into my cabin, and make all the arrangements."

There was much talk and excitement among the crew, for the general opinion was that the captain would try to cut out the craft lying under the Spanish battery. The navy had, for a long time, been very sore at their inactivity; and had fretted that no attempts had been made to cut out the Spanish vessels, across the bay. The admiral had steadily set his face against all such attempts, considering that the benefits to be gained did not justify the risks; for, had any of his small squadron been damaged, or sunk, by the guns of the batteries, the consequences would have been very serious, as the Spanish gunboats would then have been able to carry on their operations, without check, and it would have been next to impossible for vessels to run the blockade.

The information Bob had given was soon known to all the officers, and was not long before it permeated through the crew, and added to their anxiety to cut the Spaniard out; for although the prize money would be less than if she had been a richly laden merchantman, the honour and glory was proportionately greater. The undertaking would be a serious one, but the prospect of danger is never deterrent to a British sailor.

There was great satisfaction when, presently, it became known that the crews of the whole of the boats were to muster. Arms were inspected, cutlasses ground, and everything prepared. It was early in the morning when the Spanish barque had been first discovered; and ten o'clock when the frigate had sailed away from land, as if considering the Spanish craft too strongly protected to be attacked. When five miles away from land, her course was laid east and, under easy sail, she maintained the same distance on the coast.

The plan of operations was that the first lieutenant, with thirty marines and as many sailors, should land at a spot some two miles from the battery; and should make their way inland, and come down upon the position from the rear. A hundred men, in the rest of the boats, should make for the barque, direct. This party was to act in two divisions, under the second and third lieutenants, respectively; and were to lie, one to the east and the other to the west of the barque, and remain there until the guns of the battery opened upon her. Then they were to row for her at all speed; a blue light being burned, by each division, when they were within a hundred yards of the enemy, as a warning to their friends in the battery; who were then to fire round shot, instead of grape. The frigate was to venture in as closely as she dared, anchor broadside on, and open fire at the enemy.

Jim Sankey was told off to the landing party, and Bob went up to the captain, and requested leave to accompany him, as a volunteer.

"You see, sir," he said, "we may fall in with peasants, or be challenged by sentries, as we approach the battery, and my ability to speak Spanish might be an advantage."

"It would, undoubtedly," the captain said. "Well, Mr. Repton, I shall be very glad to accept your services."

At four in the afternoon, the frigate's head was again turned west and, at ten o'clock, the boats for the landing party were lowered and, the men taking their places in them, rowed away for the shore, which was some two miles distant. The night was dark; but Mr. Lyons had with him a pocket compass and had, before embarking, taken the exact bearings of the battery, from the spot where they would land. He was therefore able to shape his course to a point half a mile in its rear.

The strictest silence had been enjoined, and the little body of sailors made their way inland, until they came upon a road running parallel with the shore. They followed this for about half a mile, and then struck off inland, again. The country was highly cultivated, with orchards, vineyards, and orange groves. Their progress was slow; for they had, many times, to cut a passage through the hedges of prickly pear. At last, they reached a spot where they believed themselves to be directly behind the battery. Here there was a path, leading in the direction which they wished to follow.

In a quarter of an hour they made out some lights ahead of them, and the lieutenant halted his men, and again repeated the orders they had before received.

"You are to go straight at the huts. As you approach them you are to break up into parties of ten, as already formed. Each party is to attack one hut, cut down all who resist, seize and carry away all arms. Never mind the men, if you have once got their arms. They cannot trouble us, afterwards. Waste no time but, directly you have got all the firelocks in one hut, make for another. As soon as all have been cleared out, make for the battery.

"Now, let the officers told off to command parties each fall in, at the head of his ten men.

"Mr. Repton, you will keep beside me, to answer a challenge."

They were within fifty yards of the huts when a sentinel challenged:

"Who goes there?"

"Soldiers of the king," Bob answered, in Spanish, "with reinforcements for you."

"Halt till I call an officer," the sentry said.

But the lieutenant gave the word, and the whole party dashed forward at a run. The sentry hesitated in surprise, for a moment, and then discharged his piece. The sailors gave a cheer, and rushed at the huts. Taken utterly by surprise, the Spaniards at first offered no resistance, whatever, as the sailors rushed in. Indeed, few of them attempted to get out of bed. The blue lights, with which one man in each party was provided, were lighted as they entered; and the arms were collected without a moment's delay, and they were off again before the Spaniards were fairly awake to what had happened.

There were ten huts, each containing twenty men. Two or three shots were fired, as they entered the last two huts; but the Spaniards were overpowered in an instant, as they were here vastly outnumbered. The officers were made prisoners and, ten men being placed over them, the rest of the force, now carrying three muskets each, ran down into the battery. The sentries here threw down their arms, at once, and were allowed to go where they pleased.

"Pile the arms you have captured!" Lieutenant Lyons ordered. "Run the ramrods down them, and see if they are loaded. The Spaniards are not likely to rally but, if they do, we can give them a hot reception.

"Now, gunner, break open the magazine, there, and load with grape."

By this time the drum was beating to arms, in the vessel below—the shots fired having given the alarm—and lights were seen to flash along the deck. In two minutes the guns were loaded; and these opened with a fire of grape upon the deck of the vessel, which was near enough to be distinctly seen, by the glare of the blue lights. As the first gun was fired, an answering flash came from sea, as the frigate also opened fire. For five minutes the guns were worked fast, then two lights burst out in close succession, ahead and astern of the barque.

"Cease firing grape. Load with round shot!" the lieutenant shouted but, a moment later, a loud cheer broke from the sailors as, by the lights in the boats, the Spanish ensign was seen to run up to the peak of the barque, and then at once to fall again to the deck. The barque had surrendered.

"Now, gunner, spike the guns," the lieutenant ordered, "and then tumble them off the carriages."

This was soon done.

"Now let each man take one of the muskets, and throw the rest of them over the parapet down the rocks.

"That is right. Now, fall in!"

The sailors fell in, and marched back to the huts. The Spanish officers were placed in the midst, and twenty men were told off to fire the huts. This was soon done. The lieutenant waited until they were well alight, and then gave the order to march. They took the coast road, this time, for two miles; and then struck off to the shore and saw, a few hundred yards away, the lantern that had been hoisted on one of the boats, as a signal.

They were challenged by the boat keeper, who had moored the boats twenty yards from the shore. A cheer broke out, as the answer was given. The grapnels were pulled up, and the boats were soon alongside. The party, embarking, rowed out in the direction where they knew the frigate to be and, as soon as they were fairly out from the shore, they saw the three lights she had hoisted as a signal. In half an hour they were alongside.

"I need not ask if you have succeeded, Mr. Lyons," the captain said, as the boats came up, "for we have seen that. You have not had many casualties, I hope?"

"Only one, sir. One of the marines has a ball in his shoulder. There were only five or six shots fired, in all, and no one else has as much as a scratch."

"I am truly glad to hear it," the captain said. "It has been a most successful surprise. I don't think the boats can have suffered, either."

"I don't think there was a shot fired at them, sir," the lieutenant said. "The Spaniard ran up his colours and dropped them again, directly the boats showed their lights. I fancy they must have suffered very heavily from our fire. You see, they were almost under our guns, and we must have pretty well torn up their decks."

"We shall soon hear," the captain said. "The boats are towing the Spaniard out. She will be alongside in a few minutes."

The wind had entirely dropped now and, in a short time, the Spaniard was brought close alongside the frigate, and Mr. Rawdon came on board to report.

"The ship is the San Joaquin, mounting twenty-four guns, with a crew of two hundred and twenty men, sir. Her casualties are very heavy. The men had just poured up on deck, it seems, when the battery opened fire. The captain, first lieutenant, and fifty-six men are killed, and there are forty-three wounded. We have no casualties. Their flag came down, just as we got alongside."

"Then, as far as we are concerned," the captain said, "this is one of the most bloodless victories on record. There will be no death promotions this time, gentlemen, but I am sure you won't mind that. It has been a most admirably managed affair, altogether; and I am sure that it will be appreciated by my lords of the admiralty.

"You will take command of her at present, Mr. Lyons, with the crew now on board. Dr. Colfax and his assistant will go off with you, to attend to the wounded, and will remain on board until we get into Gibraltar.

"Mr. Rawdon, you will be acting first, and I can only say that I hope you will be confirmed."

The frigate and her prize at once sailed for Gibraltar. On their arrival there, the captain took some pains—by sending up larger yards, and by repainting the broad white streaks showing the portholes—to restore the prize to its proper appearance as a ship of war.

"We should not get half so much credit for her capture, if you took her into Portsmouth looking like a lubberly merchantman," the captain said to Mr. Lyons. "I don't care about patching up all those shot holes in the bulwarks. That gives her the appearance of having been taken after a sharp action, and the deck looks almost like a ploughed field.

"I shall give you fifty men, Mr. Lyons, I can't spare more than that."

"That will do, sir. Nothing smaller than ourselves is likely to interfere with us and, if a large frigate engaged us, we should not have more chance with a hundred men on board than with fifty. In that case we shall have to trust to our legs. Of course, if we fall in with two or three of the enemy's ships, I should run up the Spanish flag. I will find out if I can, from the prisoners, what is her private number. If I hoist that, and a Spanish flag, it ought to deceive them. I will get her back to England, if possible, sir."

"You will, of course, take home my report, Mr. Lyons. It is sure to give you your step, I think."

Next day the San Joaquin sailed and, six weeks later, a sloop of war brought despatches to the admiral. Among them was a letter from the admiralty to Captain Langton, expressing their gratification at the very able arrangements by which he had captured and silenced a Spanish battery; and cut out the sloop of war, San Joaquin, anchored under its guns, without any loss of life. It was, they said, a feat almost without parallel. They stated that they had, in accordance with his recommendation, promoted Mr. Lyons to the rank of commander; and they confirmed Mr. Rawdon in rank of first lieutenant, the third lieutenant becoming second, and the senior passed midshipman, Mr. Outram, being promoted to that of third lieutenant.

No change of any importance had taken place at Gibraltar, during the absence of the Brilliant; except that the governor had determined to retaliate for the nightly annoyance of the gunboats and, accordingly, six guns were fixed at a very considerable elevation behind the Old Mole, and shells fired from them. These reached the enemy's camp; and caused, as could be seen from the heights, great alarm and confusion. It was determined that in future, when the enemy's gunboats bombarded our camps and huts, we should retaliate by throwing shells into their camp.

The day after the Brilliant returned the Helena, sloop of war—with fourteen small guns—was seen working in towards the Rock. The wind, however, was so light that she scarcely moved through the water. Fourteen Spanish gunboats came out to cut her off. For a time she maintained a gallant contest, against odds that seemed overwhelming; although the garrison gave her up as lost. But when the wind suddenly freshened, she sailed through her opponents into the port; where she was received, with ringing cheers, by the soldiers lining the batteries.

Week after week passed in minor hostilities. There was a constant exchange of fire between our batteries and those of the enemy. The gunboats continued their operations; and we, in return, shelled their camp. Fresh works were erected, on both sides. Casualties took place almost daily, but both troops and inhabitants were now so accustomed to the continual firing that they went about their ordinary avocations, without paying any attention to the shot and shell, unless one of the latter fell close at hand.

November came in and, in spite of the heavy fire maintained by our batteries, the enemy's works continually advanced towards the Rock; and when, in the middle of the month, it was seen that the new batteries were being armed and placed in readiness to open fire, the governor determined to take the offensive. Accordingly, after gunfire on the evening of the twenty-sixth, an order was issued for all the grenadier and light infantry companies—with the 12th, and Hardenberg's Regiment—to assemble, at twelve o'clock at night—with a party of Engineers, and two hundred workmen from the line regiments—for a sortie upon the enemy's batteries. The 39th and 59th Regiments were to parade, at the same hour, to act as support to the attacking party. A hundred sailors from the ships of war were to accompany them. The attacking party numbered 1014 rank and file, besides officers and noncommissioned officers. This was exclusive of the two regiments forming the supports. The attacking force was divided into three columns.

At a quarter to three in the morning, the column moved out. The enemy's pickets discovered the advance, as soon as it passed the outlying work known as Forbes' Barrier and, after firing, fell back. Lieutenant Colonel Hugo's column, which was in front, pushed on rapidly; and entered the enemy's lines without opposition, when the pioneers began to dismantle the work. Hardenberg's Regiment and the central column attacked and carried the tremendous work known as the San Carlos Battery. The enemy were unable to withstand, for a moment, the fierce attack of the troops and, in a very short time, the whole of the advanced works were in our hands.

The leading corps formed up, to resist any attempt the enemy might make to repel the sortie; and the working parties began to destroy the enemy's work. Faggots dipped in tar were laid against the fascines and gabions and, in a short time, columns of fire and smoke rose from all parts of the works occupied. In an hour, the object of the sortie was effected. Trains were laid to the magazines, and the troops fell back. Just as they reached the town, the principal magazine blew up, with a tremendous explosion.

The enemy appeared to have been wholly confounded, at this sudden attack upon their advanced works—the fugitives from which created a panic throughout the whole army—and although the main Spanish lines, mounting a hundred and thirty-five heavy pieces of artillery, were but a few hundred yards behind the works attacked, not a single shot was fired at the troops engaged. The batteries continued burning for three days and, when they ceased to smoke, nothing but heaps of sand remained of the works that had cost the enemy months of labour to erect.

It was some days before the Spaniards appeared to come to any definite conclusion as to their next step. Then large numbers of men set to work, to reestablish their batteries; and things fell into their old routine, again. Every day shots were exchanged, occasionally. Vessels made their way in and out; being sometimes briskly chased by the enemy's gunboats, sometimes passing in with little interference—for, by this time, the Spaniards must have recognized that there was no hope, whatever, of reducing Gibraltar by blockade. There was a great deal of sickness in the garrison; but comparatively little of this was due to scurvy, for every available corner of ground was now cultivated, and the supply of vegetables—if not absolutely sufficient to counteract the effects of so long and monotonous a diet of salt meat—was yet ample to prevent any serious outbreak of scurvy recurring.

In February, fresh activity was manifested among the besiegers. Vast numbers of mules were seen, bringing fascines to their works. At the end of March the Vernon store ship arrived and, a few hours later, four transports with the 97th Regiment, under the convoy of two frigates, came in.

A singular series of casualties was caused by a single shot, which entered an embrasure in Willis's Battery, took both legs off two men, one leg off another, and wounded another man in both legs; thus four men had seven legs taken off, or wounded, by one shot. These casualties were caused by the inattention of the men to the warning of a boy who was looking out for shot. There were two boys in the garrison whose eyesight was so keen that they could see the enemy's shot coming, and both were employed in the batteries especially exposed to the enemy's fire, to warn the men to withdraw themselves into shelter, when shot were coming.

This quickness of eyesight was altogether exceptional. Standing behind a gun—and knowing, therefore, the exact course the shot will take—it is comparatively easy for a quick-sighted man to follow it; but there are few, indeed, who can see a shot coming towards them. In this respect, the ear is a far better index than the eye. A person possessed of a fair amount of nerve can judge, to within a few yards, the line that a shot coming towards him will take. When first heard, the sound is as a faint murmur; increasing, as it approaches, to a sound resembling the blowing off of steam by an express engine, as it rushes through a station. At first, the keenest ear could not tell the direction in which the shot is travelling but, as it approaches, the difference in the angle becomes perceptible to the ear, and a calm listener will distinguish whether it will pass within twenty or thirty yards, to the right or left. It would require an extraordinary acute ear to determine more closely than this, the angle of flight being so very small, until the shot approaches almost within striking distance.

The garrison had been trying experiments with carcasses and red-hot shot. A carcass is a hollow shot, or shell, pierced with holes; but instead of being charged with powder, to explode it either by means of a fuse or by percussion, it is filled with a fierce-burning composition so that, upon falling, it will set on fire anything inflammable near it. Red-hot shot are fired by putting a wet wad in over the dry wad, next to the powder. The red-hot shot is then run into the gun, and rammed against the wet wad; and the gun fired in the usual way. The carcasses several times set fire to the enemy's works, but the use of the red-hot shot was reserved for a pressing emergency. A number of furnaces were constructed, in the various batteries, for heating the shot; which necessarily required a considerable amount of time, to bring them to a white heat.

News came, in April, that great preparations were making, at Cadiz and other Mediterranean ports, for a fresh and vigorous attack on Gibraltar; and that the Duc de Crillon—who had lately captured Minorca—would bring twenty thousand French and Spanish troops, in addition to those at present engaged in the siege; that a large fleet would also be present, and that the principal attack would be made by means of ships turned into floating batteries, and protected by an immense thickness of cork, or other wood.

On the 9th of May, the ships began to arrive. Among them were seven large vessels, which appeared to be old men-of-war. A large number of workmen immediately went on board them, and began to lower the topmasts. This confirmed the news in respect to the floating batteries.

About this time, three store ships fortunately arrived from England, with powder, shell, and other stores. As there could be no longer any doubt that the attack was, this time, to be delivered on the sea face; strong working parties were employed in strengthening the water batteries, in erecting lines of palisades, to prevent a landing from boats, and in building furnaces for the heating of shot in these batteries, also. At this time the Engineers began to drive a gallery through the Rock, facing the neutral ground, in order to place guns there. This work was carried on to the end of the siege, and the batteries thus erected are now among the strongest of the defences of Gibraltar.

At the end of the month a great fleet, consisting of upwards of a hundred sail, entered the bay and anchored off Algeciras. Some nine or ten thousand troops were landed and, from that time, scarce a day passed without fresh vessels, laden with stores and materials for the siege, arriving in the bay.

Early in May twelve gunboats, that had been sent out in pieces from England, were completed and launched. Each carried one gun, and was manned by twenty-one men. Six of these drew their crews from the Brilliant, five from the Porcupine, and one from the Speedwell, cutter. These craft had been specially designed for the purpose of engaging the enemy's gunboats, and for convoying ships into the port.

On the 11th of June a shell from the enemy burst, just at the door of one of the magazines of Willis's Battery. This instantly blew up, and the explosion was so violent that it seemed to shake the whole Rock. Fourteen men were killed, and fifteen wounded, and a great deal of injury done to the battery; but strong parties at once set to work to repair it. A few days later a French convoy of sixty sail and three frigates anchored in the bay and, from these, another five thousand French troops landed.

At the end of the month the Duc de Crillon arrived, and took command of the besiegers. A private letter, that was brought in by a privateer that had captured a merchantman, on her way, gave the garrison an idea of the method in which the attack was to be made. It stated that ten ships were to be fortified, six or seven feet thick, with green timber bolted with iron, and covered with cork, junk, and raw hides. They were to carry guns of heavy metal, and to be bombproof on the top, with a descent for the shells to slide off. These vessels, which they supposed would be impregnable, were to be moored within half gunshot of the walls with iron chains; and large boats, with mantlets, were to lie off at some distance, full of troops ready to take advantage of occurrences; that the mantlets of these boats were to be formed with hinges, to fall down to facilitate their landing. There would, by that time, be forty thousand men in camp, but the principal attack was to be made by sea, to be covered by a squadron of men-of-war with bomb ketches, floating batteries, gun and mortar boats, etc.; and that the Comte D'Artois—brother to the King of France—with other great personages, was to be present at the attack.

At this time the enemy fired but little, and the garrison were able to turn their whole attention to strengthen the points most threatened. The activity of the enemy on their offensive works on the neutral ground continued and, in one night, a strong and lofty work, five hundred yards long, with a communication thirteen hundred yards long to the works, was raised. It was calculated that ten thousand men, at least, must have been employed upon it; and no less than a million and a half sandbags used in its construction.

There could be no doubt, now, that the critical moment was approaching; and that, ere long, the garrison would be exposed to the most tremendous fire ever opened upon a besieged place.

CHAPTER 17: THE FLOATING BATTERIES.

In spite of the unremitting work, of the daily cannonade, of illness and hardship, life on the Rock had not been unpleasant to the O'Hallorans. Although many of the officers' wives had, at one time or another, taken advantage of ships sailing from the port to return home—or rather, to endeavour to do so, for a considerable number of the vessels that left were captured by the Spaniards, before getting through the Straits—there still remained sufficient for agreeable society; and the O'Hallorans' was, more than any other house, the general meeting place.

From its position in the hollow, it was sheltered from the fire of all the shore batteries—whose long distance shots searched all the lower parts of the Rock—while the resources of the establishment enabled the O'Hallorans to afford an open-handed hospitality that would have been wholly beyond the means of others. They had long since given up selling any of their produce, distributing all their surplus eggs among families where there was illness, or sending them up to the hospitals; and doing the same with their chickens, and vegetables. The greatest care was bestowed upon the poultry, fresh broods being constantly raised, so that they could kill eight or ten couple a week, and still keep up their stock to its full strength. Thus, with gatherings two evenings a week at their own house, and usually as many at the houses of their friends; while Captain O'Halloran and Bob frequently dined at the mess of their own, or other regiments, the time passed pleasantly.

While Carrie was fully occupied with the care of the house, and a general superintendence of what they called their farm; Bob was never at a loss for amusement. There was always something to see, some fresh work being executed, some fresh development in the defences; while he was on terms of friendship with almost every officer in the garrison. It was two years and a half since he had come out, and he was now eighteen. His constant intercourse with people older than himself, and with the officers of the garrison, together with the exceptional position in which he found himself, made him in some respects seem older than he was; but he still retained his liveliness, and love of fun. His spirits never flagged, and he was a general favourite with all who knew him.

On the 19th of August, a boat with a flag of truce brought in a complimentary letter from the Duc de Crillon to the governor, informing him of the arrival of the Comte D'Artois and the Duc de Bourbon in his camp, and sending him a present of ice, fruit, partridges, and other delicacies. The governor returned a letter in similar complimentary terms, thanking the Duke for his letter and the presents; but declining with thanks the supplies that had been offered, saying that he never received, for himself, anything beyond what was common to the garrison.

The sailors of the ships of war now pitched tents ashore, for their use when they should be ordered to land to take part in the defence; and the heavy guns were, for the most part, moved down from the upper batteries to the sea lines. Day after day passed, the bombardment being constantly expected; but the damage inflicted, by fire, on the enemy's works by our carcasses delayed the attack.

On the 8th of September a tremendous fire was suddenly opened, with red hot shot and carcasses, upon the enemy's works. The Mahon Battery was burned, while the San Carlos and San Marten Batteries were so damaged that they had almost to be rebuilt. The enemy, as on previous occasions, showed extreme bravery in their efforts to extinguish the fire and to repair damages; and it was afterwards known that the French troops, alone, had a hundred and forty killed and wounded. The damage done probably convinced the Duc de Crillon that no advantage could be hoped for by trying further to increase his works and, at half past five next morning, a volley of sixty shells was fired by their mortar batteries, followed by the discharge of one hundred and seventy pieces of heavy artillery.

This tremendous fire was kept up for some time, while nine line-of-battle ships, supported by fifteen gun and mortar boats, passed to and fro along the sea face, pouring in their fire upon us. At nightfall the enemy's guns ceased firing, but their mortars kept up their shell fire all night. The next day the ships of war renewed their attack, as did the land batteries. In the course of the day the Brilliant and Porcupine frigates were scuttled by the navy, alongside the New Mole, and their crews landed.

On the following day the enemy's fire was principally directed against the barrier and chevaux de frise in front of the land port and, in the afternoon, these barriers and palisades were all in flames; and the troops at that end of the Rock got under arms, in case an attack should be made.

On the morning of the 12th the combined fleets of France and Spain, consisting of thirty-eight men-of-war, three frigates, and a number of smaller craft, sailed into the bay and anchored near Algeciras. Their fleet now consisted of forty-seven men-of-war, ten battering ships—considered invincible, and carrying two hundred and twelve guns—and innumerable frigates and small ships of war; while on the land side were batteries mounting two hundred heavy guns, and an army of forty thousand men. Tremendous odds, indeed, against a fortress whose garrison consisted of seven thousand effective men, including the Marine Brigade.

For some days past Bob had been engaged, with their landlord and some hired labourers, in bringing in earth and filling up the lower rooms four feet deep, in order to render the cellars bomb proof. Some beds and furniture were taken below, so that Carrie, the servants, and the Spanish family could retire there, in case the enemy's shells fell thickly round the house.

It was noticed as a curious incident that, just as the combined fleet entered the bay an eagle, after circling round it, perched for a few minutes upon the summit of the flag post, on the highest point of the Rock; an omen of victory which would have been considered decisive, by the Romans, and which did, in fact, help to raise the spirits and confidence of the garrison.

On the morning of the 13th the enemy's battering ships got under way, with a gentle breeze from the northwest and, at a little past nine o'clock anchored, in admirable order, in line of the sea face. The nearest was about nine hundred yards from the King's Bastion, the most distant being about eleven hundred yards. Not a shot was fired before the enemy anchored, and then the whole of the batteries that commanded them opened fire, to which the battering ships and the artillery in their lines at once replied.

Bob was standing on the roof of the house, with his sister.

"What a magnificent sight, Carrie!" he exclaimed. "It is well worth all the waiting, to be here to see it."

"It is terrible!" Carrie said. "It is like one great roar of thunder. How awfully the men must be suffering, in the batteries!"

"I don't suppose it is as bad as it looks," Bob said. "At any rate, you needn't be uneasy about Gerald. All the troops except those working the guns are in shelter, and won't be called out unless the enemy attempt to land.

"I wonder their fleet don't come across, to help their batteries. I suppose they are afraid of the carcasses, and red hot shot.

"Well, there is one comfort, Carrie: none of their shot are coming this way. Their floating batteries, evidently, are firing only at our batteries by the water. As to the others, we know that we are safe enough from them though, certainly, the shot do make a most unpleasant noise as they fly overhead.

"I wish there was a little more wind, to blow away the smoke, so that we could see what effect our fire is having on those hulks. I shouldn't think that we had begun with red hot shot, yet. It takes three hours to get them hot enough. As far as I can see, whenever the wind blows the smoke away a little, our shot and shell roll off the roofs and sides, without doing any damage to speak of."

About noon the enemy's mortar boats and ketches attempted to come across, and assist their battering ships; but the wind had changed and had worked round to the southwest, blowing a smart breeze and bringing in a heavy swell, so that they were prevented from taking part in the action. Our own gunboats were hindered, by the same cause, from putting out and opening a flanking fire upon the battering ships.

The northern batteries, by the water, suffered heavily from the fire of the Spanish lines; which took them in flank and, indeed, some of the batteries in reverse, causing many casualties. The Artillery, however, refused to let their attention be diverted from the battering ships.

By two o'clock the furnaces had heated the shot in all the batteries and, although some of them had been firing these missiles for upwards of an hour, it was not until two that their use became general. Soon afterwards—when the wind cleared away the smoke from the ships—men could be seen on their sloping roofs, directing streams of water from the pumps upon small wreaths of smoke that curled up, here and there. Up to this time, the defenders had begun to fear that the craft were indeed as invulnerable as the Spaniards believed them to be; but these evidences that the red hot shot were doing their work greatly roused their spirits, and cheers frequently rose, as the men toiled at their heavy guns.

As the afternoon went on, the smoke from the upper part of the Spanish admiral's flagship rose more and more thickly and, although numbers of men continued to bring up and throw water over the roof—working with extraordinary bravery, in spite of the hail of projectiles poured upon them—it was clear that the fire was making steady progress.

Bob had, long before this, gone down to the works by the sea face—where considerable bodies of troops were lying, in the bombproof casemates, in readiness for action if called upon—and from time to time he went out with Captain O'Halloran, and other officers, to see how matters were going on.

In sheltered places behind the batteries, some of the surgeons were at work; temporarily binding up the wounds of artillerymen struck with shell, or splinters; after which they were carried, by stretcher parties of the infantry, up to the hospitals. Dr. Burke was thus engaged, in the battery where his regiment was stationed. He had, since the first bombardment commenced, ceased to complain of the want of opportunities for exercising himself in his professional work; and had been indefatigable in his attendance on the wounded. Among them he was an immense favourite. He had a word, and a joke, for every man who came under his hands; while his confident manner and cheery talk kept up the spirits of the men. He was, too, a very skilful operator; and many of the poor fellows in hospital had urgently requested that, if they must lose a limb, it should be under the hands of Dr. Burke.

"It is much better to make men laugh, than to make them cry," he would say to Bob. "It is half the battle gained, when you can keep up a patient's spirit. It is wonderful how some of them stand pain. The hard work they have been doing is all in their favour."

Bob several times went out to him, and assisted him as far as he could, by handing him bandages, sponges, etc.

"You ought to have been an assistant, from the beginning, Bob," he said. "By this time you would have been quite a decent surgeon—only you have a silly way of turning pale. There, hand me that bandage.

"All right, my man! We will have you patched up in no time.

"No, I don't think you can go back to your gun again. You will have to eat and drink a bit, and make fresh blood, before you will be much use at a thirty-two pounder again.

"What is this—a scalp wound? Splinter of a shell, eh? Well, it is lucky for you, lad, that you have been hardening your skull a bit, before you enlisted. A few clips from a blackthorn are capital preparation. I don't think you will come to much harm. You are not more hurt than you would be in a good, lively faction fight.

"There, you had better put down that sponge, Bob, and go into the casemate, for a bit. You are getting white again.

"I think we are over the worst now; for if, as you tell me, the smoke is beginning to come up from some of those floating batteries, their fire will soon slacken a bit. As long as they keep out the shot, those defences of theirs are first rate but, as soon as the shot begin to embed themselves in the roof, they are worse than nothing—for they can neither dig out the shot, nor get at them with the water. Once establish a fire, and it is pretty sure to spread."

Bob was glad to get back again into the bombproof casemates; for there was comparative quiet while, outside, the constant roar of the guns, the howl of shot, the explosion of shell, and the crash of masonry created a din that was almost bewildering.

Presently a cheer was heard in the battery, and Bob went out to see what it was; and returned with the news that the ship next to the Spanish admiral's was also smoking, in several places. As the afternoon went on, confusion was apparent on board several of the battering ships and, by the evening, their fire had slackened considerably. Before eight o'clock it had almost entirely ceased, except from one or two ships to the northward of the line which, being somewhat farther from the shore, had suffered less than the others.

At sunset the Artillery in our batteries were relieved—the Naval Brigade taking their place—and the fire was continued, without relaxation. As soon as it became dark, rockets were fired by several of the battering ships. These were answered by the Spanish men-of-war, and many boats rowed across to the floating batteries. By ten o'clock the flames began to burst out from the admiral's battering ship and, by midnight, she was completely in flames. The light assisted our gunners—who were able to lay their cannon with as much accuracy as during the daytime—and the whole Rock was illuminated by the flames. These presently burst out, vigorously, from the next ship and, between three and four o'clock, points of light appeared upon six of the other hulks.

At three o'clock Brigadier Curtis—who commanded the Naval Brigade encamped at Europa Point—finding that the sea had gone down, manned the gunboats and, rowing out for some distance, opened a heavy flanking fire upon the battering ships; compelling the boats that were lying in shelter behind them to retire. As the day broke he captured two of the enemy's launches and, finding from the prisoners that there were still numbers of men on board the hulks, rowed out to rescue them. While he was employed at this work, at five o'clock, one of the battering ships to the northward blew up, with a tremendous explosion and, a quarter of an hour later, another in the centre of the line also blew up. The wreck was scattered over a wide extent of water.

One of the gunboats was sunk, and another seriously injured; and the Brigadier, fearing other explosions, ordered the boats to draw off towards the town. On the way, however, he visited two of the other burning ships; and rescued some more of those left behind—landing, in all, nine officers, two priests, and three hundred and thirty-four soldiers and seamen. Besides these, one officer and eleven Frenchmen had floated ashore, the evening before, on the shattered fragments of a launch.

While the boats in the navy were thus endeavouring to save their foes, the land batteries—which had ceased firing on the previous evening—again opened on the garrison; but as, from some of the camps, the boats could be perceived at their humane work, orders were despatched to the batteries to cease fire; and a dead silence succeeded the din that had gone on for nearly twenty-four hours.

Of the six battering ships still in flames, three blew up before eleven o'clock. The other three burned to the water's edge—the magazines having been drowned, by the Spaniards, before they left the ships in their boats. The garrison hoped that the two remaining battering ships might be saved, to be sent home as trophies of the victory but, about noon, one of them suddenly burst into flames, and presently blew up. The other was examined by the men-of-war boats, and found to be so injured that she could not be saved. She was accordingly set fire to, and also destroyed. Thus, the whole of the ten vessels, that were considered by their constructors to be invincible, were destroyed.

The loss of the enemy, in killed and prisoners, was estimated at two thousand; while the casualties of the garrison were astonishingly small, consisting only of one officer and fifteen non-commissioned officers and men killed, and five officers and sixty-three men wounded. Very little damage was done to the works. It is supposed that the smoke enveloping the vessels prevented accurate aim. The chief object of the attack was to silence the King's Bastion and, upon this, two of the largest ships concentrated their fire; while the rest endeavoured to effect a breach in the wall between that battery, and the battery next to it.

The enemy had three hundred heavy cannon engaged, while the garrison had a hundred and six cannon and mortars. The distance at which the batteries were moored from the shore was greatly in favour of the efforts of our artillery; as the range was almost point blank, and the guns did not require to be elevated. Thus, the necessity for using two wads between the powder and the red-hot balls was obviated, and the gunners were able to fire much more rapidly than they would otherwise have done. The number of the Spanish soldiers on board the battery ships was 5260, in addition to the sailors required to work the ships.

Great activity was manifested, by the Spaniards, on the day following the failure of their bombardment; and large numbers of men were employed in bringing up fresh ammunition to their batteries. Many of the men-of-war also got under way. Major Harcourt, Doctor Burke, and two or three other officers stood watching the movements from the O'Hallorans' terrace.

"I should have thought that they had had enough of it," Doctor Burke said. "If those battering ships couldn't withstand our fire, what chance would their men-of-war have?

"See! They are just as busy on the land side, and the 71st has been ordered to send down extra guards to the land port. I should have thought they had given it up, as a bad job, this time."

"I have no doubt they have given it up, doctor," Major Harcourt said; "but they are not likely to say so, just yet. After all the preparations that have been made; and the certainty expressed, about our capture, by the allied armies and navies of France and Spain; and having two or three royal princes down here, to grace the victory; you don't suppose they are going to acknowledge to the world that they are beaten. I should have thought you would have known human nature better than that, doctor.

"You will see De Crillon will send a pompous report of the affair; saying that the battering ships were found, owing to faults in their construction, to be of far less utility than had been expected and that, therefore, they had been burned. They had, however, inflicted enormous loss upon the garrison and defences; and the siege would now be taken up by the army and fleet, and vigorously pushed to a successful termination.

"That will be the sort of thing, I would bet a month's pay. The last thing a Spanish commander will confess is that he is beaten; and I think it likely enough that they will carry on the siege for months, yet, so as to keep up appearances. In fact, committed as they are to it, I don't see how they can give it up, without making themselves the laughingstock of Europe. But, now that they find they have no chance of getting the object for which they went to war, I fancy you will see, before very long, they will begin to negotiate for peace."

The major's anticipations were verified. For some time the siege was carried on with considerable vigour—from a thousand to twelve hundred shots being fired, daily, into the fortress. Their works on the neutral ground were pushed forward; and an attempt was made, at night, to blow out a portion of the face of the Rock, by placing powder in a cave—but the attempt was detected.

The position of the garrison became more comfortable after a British fleet arrived, with two more regiments and a large convoy of merchantmen; but nothing of any importance took place till, on the 2d of February, 1782, the Duc de Crillon sent in to say that the preliminaries of a general peace had been signed, by Great Britain, France, and Spain and, three days later, the blockade at sea was discontinued, and the port of Gibraltar again open.

Bob Repton, however, was not present at the concluding scenes of the great drama. Satisfied, after the failure of the bombardment, that there would be no more serious fighting, and that the interest of the siege was at an end; he took advantage of the arrival of the Antelope in the bay, a few days after the engagement, to return in her to England. He had now been two years and eight months on the Rock, and felt that he ought to go home, to take his place with his uncle.

He had benefited greatly by his stay in Gibraltar. He had acquired the Spanish language thoroughly and, in other respects, had carried on his studies under the direction of Doctor Burke; and had employed much of his leisure time with instructive reading. Mixing so much with the officers of the garrison, he had acquired a good manner and address. He had been present at the most memorable siege of the times, and had gained the credit of having—though but a volunteer—his name twice placed in general orders for good services. He had landed a school boy; he was now a well-built young fellow, of medium height and powerful frame; but he had retained his boyish, frank good humour, and his love of fun.

"I trust that we shall be back in England, before long," his sister said to him. "Everyone expects that Spain will make peace, before many months are over, and it is likely that the regiments who have gone through the hardships of the siege will soon be relieved; so I hope that, in a year or two, we may be ordered home again."

There was a great deal of regret expressed, when it was known that Bob Repton was going home; for he had always been ready to do any acts of kindness in his power—especially to children, of whom he was very fond—and it was not forgotten that his daring enterprise, in going out alone to fetch in fruit, had saved many of their lives. Amy Harcourt's eyes were very red, when he went up to say goodbye to her and her mother, an hour before he sailed; and the farewells were spoken with quivering lips.

The Antelope evaded the enemy's cruisers near the Rock, and made a quick passage to England, without adventure. She had made two or three good prizes, up the Spanish coast, before she put into Gibraltar on her way home. Captain Lockett, therefore, did not go out of his way to look for more.

On arriving at Portsmouth, Bob at once went up to London by coach. He had no lack of clothes, having purchased the effects of an officer, of nearly his own build and stature, who had been killed a short time before. On alighting from the coach he walked to Philpot Lane, and went straight into the counting house. His old acquaintance, Jack Medlin, was sitting on the stool his father had formerly occupied; and Bob was greatly amused at the air of gravity on his face.

"Do you wish to see Mr. Bale, or Mr. Medlin, sir?" he asked, "Or can I take your orders?"

"You are a capital imitator of your father, Jack," Bob said, as he brought his hand down heavily on the shoulder of the young clerk; who stared at him in astonishment.

"Why, it is Bob—I mean, Mr. Repton!" he exclaimed.

"It's Bob Repton, Jack, sure enough; and glad I am to see you. Why, it is nearly three years since we met; and we have both altered a good bit, since then.

"Well, is my uncle in?"

"No, he is out, at present; but my father is in the inner office."

Bob strode into the inner office, and greeted Mr. Medlin as heartily as he had done his son; and Mr. Medlin, for the first time since he had entered Philpot Lane, as a boy, forgot that he was within the sacred precincts of the city and, for at least ten minutes, laughed and talked as freely and unrestrainedly as if he had been out at Highgate.

"Your uncle will be delighted to see you back," he said. "He is for ever talking about you; and there wasn't a prouder man in the city of London than he was, when the despatches were published and your name appeared, twice, as having rendered great service. He became a little afraid, at one time, that you might take to soldiering, altogether. But I told him that I thought there was no fear of that. After you had once refused to take a midshipman's berth—with its prospect of getting away from school—I did not think it likely that you would be tempted, now."

"No; the General told Captain O'Halloran that he would get me a commission, if I liked; but I had not the least ambition that way. I have had a fine opportunity of seeing war, and have had a jolly time of it; and now I am quite ready to settle down, here."

Mr. Bale was delighted, on his return, to find Bob. It was just the hour for closing, and he insisted upon Mr. Medlin stopping to take supper with him. Bob had written, whenever there was an opportunity of sending letters; but many of these had never come to hand, and there was much to tell, and talk about.

"Well, I am thoroughly satisfied with the success of our experiment, Mr. Medlin," Mr. Bale said, next day. "Bob has turned out exactly what I hoped he would—a fine young fellow, and a gentleman. He has excellent manners, and yet there is nothing foppish, or affected about him."

"I had no fear of that, with Bob, Mr. Bale; and indeed, Gibraltar during the siege must have been a bad school for anyone to learn that sort of thing. Military men may amuse themselves with follies of that kind, when they have nothing better to do; but it is thrown aside, and their best qualities come out, when they have such work to do as they have had there.

"Yes, I agree with you, sir. The experiment has turned out capitally; and your nephew is, in every respect, a far better man than he would have been, if he had been kept mewed up here these three years. He is a young fellow that anyone—I don't care who he is—might feel proud of."

So Bob took up his duties in the office, and his only complaint there was that he could hardly find enough to do. Mr. Bale had relaxed his close attention to the business, since he had taken Mr. Medlin into the firm; but as that gentleman was perfectly capable of carrying it on, single handed, Bob's share of it was easy enough. It was not long before he complained to his uncle that he really did not find enough to do.

"Well, Bob, you shall come down with me to a place I have bought, out by Chislehurst. It is a tidy little estate. I bought it a year ago. It is a nice distance from town—just a pleasant ride, or drive, up. I am thinking of moving my establishment down there, altogether; and as you will have it some day, I should like your opinion of it. It isn't quite ready, yet. I have been having it thoroughly done up, but the men will be out in a week or two."

Bob was greatly pleased with the house, which was a fine one, and very pleasantly situated, in large grounds.

"There are seventy or eighty acres of land," Mr. Bale said. "They are let to a farmer, at present. He only has them by the year; and I think it will be an amusement to you to take them in hand, and look after them yourself. I know a good many people living about here, and I have no doubt we shall have quite as much society as we care for."

Another month and they were established at Chislehurst, and Bob found the life there very pleasant. He generally drove his uncle up to town in the morning; getting to the office at ten o'clock, and leaving it at five in the afternoon. On his return home there was the garden to see about, and the stables. Very often his uncle brought a city friend or two home with him, for the night; and they soon had a large circle of acquaintances in the neighbourhood.

"I should like you to marry young, Bob," Mr. Bale said to him one day. "I did not marry young; and so, you see, I have never married at all; and have wasted my life shockingly, in consequence. When you are ready to marry, I am ready to give you the means. Don't forget that."

"I won't forget it, sir," Bob said, smiling; "and I will try to meet your wishes."

Mr. Bale looked at him sharply. Carrie's letters were long and chatty; and it may be that Mr. Bale had gleaned, from them, some notion of an idea that Carrie and Mrs. Harcourt had in their heads.

Three years later Mr. Bale remarked, as they were driving home:

"By the way, Bob, I was glad to see, in the paper today, that the 58th is ordered home."

"Is it, sir?" Bob asked, eagerly. "I have not looked at the paper today. I am glad to hear that. I thought it wouldn't be long. But there is never any saying—they might have been sent somewhere else, instead of being sent home."

"I hope they will be quartered somewhere within reach," Mr. Bale said. "If they are stationed at Cork, or some outlandish place in Ireland, they might almost as well be at Gibraltar, for anything we shall see of them."

"Oh, we can manage to run over to Cork, uncle."

"There will be no occasion to do that, Bob. Captain O'Halloran will be getting leave, soon after he comes over, and then he can bring Carrie here."

And he smiled slily to himself.

"He mayn't be able to get leave for some time," Bob said. "I think, uncle, I shall run over, directly they arrive."

"Perhaps the firm won't be able to spare you," Mr. Bale remarked.

"It is my opinion the firm would get on just as well, without me, or an indefinite time, uncle."

"Not at all, Bob. Mr. Medlin was saying, only a few days ago, that you do quite your share of the work; and that he generally leaves it to you, now, to see country customers when I am out, and thinks the change has been an advantage to the business. However, if the regiment does go to Ireland—as is likely enough—I suppose we must manage to spare you."

It was indeed soon known that the 58th were, in the first place, to be disembarked at Cork and, one day, Mr. Bale came into the office.

"I have just seen your friend Lockett, Bob; I mean the younger one. He commands the Antelope now, you know. His uncle has retired, and bought a place near Southampton, and settled down there. Young Lockett came up from Portsmouth by the night coach. He put in at Gibraltar on his way home, and the 58th were to embark three days after he left. So if you want to meet them when they arrive at Cork, you had better lose no time; but start by the night coach for Bristol, and cross in the packet from there."

It was a month before Bob returned. The evening that he did so, he said to his uncle:

"I think, uncle, you said that you were anxious that I should marry young."

"That is so, Bob," Mr. Bale said, gravely.

"Well, uncle, I have been doing my best to carry out your wishes."

"You don't mean to say, Bob," Mr. Bale said, in affected alarm, "that you are going to marry a soldier's daughter?"

"Well, yes, sir," Bob said, a little taken aback; "but I don't know how you guessed it. It is a young lady I knew in Gibraltar."

"What, Bob! Not that girl who went running about with you, dressed up as a boy?"

As this was a portion of his adventures upon which Bob had been altogether reticent, he sat for a moment, confounded.

"Don't be ashamed of it, Bob," Mr. Bale said, with a smile, laying his hand kindly on his shoulder. "Your sister Carrie is an excellent young woman, and it is not difficult to read her thoughts in her letters. Of course, she told me about your adventure with Miss Harcourt, and she has mentioned her a good many times, since; and it did not need a great deal of discernment to see what Carrie's opinion was regarding the young lady. Carrie has her weak points—as, for example, when she took up with that wild Irishman—but she has plenty of good sense; and I am sure, by the way she wrote about this Miss Harcourt, that she must be a very charming girl; and I think, Bob, I have been looking forward almost as much, to the regiment coming home, as you have.

"Regarding you as I do, as my son, there is nothing I should like so much as having a bright, pretty daughter-in-law; so you have my hearty consent and approval, even before you ask for it.

"And you found her very nice, Bob—eh?"

"Very nice, sir," Bob said, smiling.

"And very pretty, Bob?"

"Very pretty, sir. I never thought that she would have grown up so pretty."

"And her head has not been turned by the compliments that she has, of course, received?"

"I don't think so, sir. She said her mind has been made up, ever since I brought her back to Gibraltar; so you see, the compliments did not go for much."

"Well, Bob, I will write to Major Harcourt. I shall hand you over this place, altogether, and settle down in my old quarters in Philpot Lane."

"No, no, sir," Bob said.

"But I say yes, Bob. I shall keep a room here, and I dare say I shall often use it. But I have been rather like a fish out of water, since I came here, and shall be well content to fall into my old ways again; knowing that, if I want any change, and bright society, I can come down here. If I find I am restless there—which is not likely—I can buy a little place, and settle down beside you. As I told you long ago, I am a rich man—I have been doing nothing but save money, all my life—and though, as I then said, I should like you to carry on the firm, after I am gone; there will, as far as money goes, be no occasion for you to do so."

Two months later the three members of the firm went over to Cork, and there a gay wedding was celebrated; and when, at the termination of the honeymoon, Bob returned to Chislehurst, he found Captain O'Halloran and Carrie established there on a month's leave and, a day or two later, the party was increased by the arrival of Doctor Burke.

Mr. Bale lived for twenty years after Bob's marriage; the last fifteen of which were passed in a little place he bought, adjoining that of the Reptons and, before he died, he saw four grandchildren—as he called them—fast growing up.

General and Mrs. Harcourt also settled down in the neighbourhood, to be near their only daughter, a few years before Mr. Bale's death.

Doctor Burke remained with the regiment for some years, and then bought a practice in Dublin but, to the end of his life, he paid a visit every three or four years to his former pupil.

Captain O'Halloran obtained the rank of colonel but, losing an arm at the capture of Martinique, in 1794, he retired from the army and settled at Woolwich—where Carrie was within easy reach of Chislehurst—having his pension, and a comfortable income which Mr. Bale settled upon Carrie. At Mr. Bale's death, it was found that he had left his house at Chislehurst to Carrie; and she and her husband accordingly established themselves there.

Bob, to the end of his life, declared that—although in all things he had been an exceptionally happy, and fortunate man—the most fortunate occurrence that ever happened to him was that he should have taken part in the famous Siege of Gibraltar

Table of Contents

On The Irrawaddy:

Preface.

Chapter 1: A New Career.

Chapter 2: The Outbreak of War.

Chapter 3: A Prisoner.

Chapter 4: A Ruined Temple.

Chapter 5: With Brigands.

Chapter 6: Among Friends.

Chapter 7: On The Staff.

Chapter 8: The Pagoda.

Chapter 9: Victories.

Chapter 10: The Advance.

Chapter 11: Donabew.

Chapter 12: Harry Carried Off.

Chapter 13: Preparing A Rescue.

Chapter 14: In The Temple.

Chapter 15: The Attack.

Chapter 16: Rejoining.

Chapter 17: The Pride Of Burma Humbled.

Chapter 18: In Business Again.

On The Irrawaddy:

A Story of the First Burmese War

By G. A. Henty

Illustrated by W. H. Overend.

Preface.

With the exception of the terrible retreat from Afghanistan, none of England's many little wars have been so fatal—in proportion to the number of those engaged—as our first expedition to Burma. It was undertaken without any due comprehension of the difficulties to be encountered, from the effects of climate and the deficiency of transport; the power, and still more the obstinacy and arrogance of the court of Ava were altogether underrated; and it was considered that our possession of her ports would assuredly bring the enemy, who had wantonly forced the struggle upon us, to submission. Events, however, proved the completeness of the error. The Burman policy of carrying off every boat on the river, laying waste the whole country, and driving away the inhabitants and the herds, maintained our army as prisoners in Rangoon through the first wet season; and caused the loss of half the white officers and men first sent there. The subsequent campaign was no less fatal and, although large reinforcements had been sent, fifty percent of the whole died; so that less than two thousand fighting men remained in the ranks, when the expedition arrived within a short distance of Ava. Not until the last Burmese army had been scattered did the court of Ava submit to the by no means onerous terms we imposed.

Great, indeed, was the contrast presented by this first invasion of the country with the last war in 1885, which brought about the final annexation of Burma. Then a fleet of steamers conveyed the troops up the noble river; while in 1824 a solitary steamer was all that India could furnish, to aid the flotilla of rowboats. No worse government has ever existed than that of Burma when, with the boast that she intended to drive the British out of India, she began the war. No people were ever kept down by a more grinding tyranny, and the occupation of the country by the British has been an even greater blessing to the population than has that of India.

Several works, some by eyewitnesses, others compiled from official documents, appeared after the war. They differ remarkably in the relation of details, and still more in the spelling of the names both of persons and places. I have chiefly followed those given in the narratives of Mr. H. H. Wilson, and of Major Snodgrass, the military secretary to the commander of the expedition.

Chapter 1: A New Career.

A party was assembled in a room of an hotel in Calcutta, at the end of the year 1822. It consisted of a gentleman, a lady in deep mourning, a boy of between fourteen and fifteen, and two girls of thirteen and twelve.

"I think you had better accept my offer, Nellie," the gentleman was saying. "You will find it hard work enough to make both ends meet, with these two girls; and Stanley would be a heavy drain on you. The girls cost nothing but their clothes; but he must go to a decent school, and then there would be the trouble of thinking what to do with him, afterwards. If I could have allowed you a couple of hundred a year, it would have been altogether different; but you see I am fighting an uphill fight, myself, and need every penny that I can scrape together. I am getting on; and I can see well enough that, unless something occurs to upset the whole thing, I shall be doing a big trade, one of these days; but every half penny of profit has to go into the business. So, as you know, I cannot help you at present though, by the time the girls grow up, I hope I shall be able to do so, and that to a good extent.

"I feel sure that it would not be a bad thing for Stanley. He will soon get to be useful to me, and in three or four years will be a valuable assistant. Speaking Hindustani as well as he does, he won't be very long in picking up enough of the various dialects in Kathee and Chittagong for our purpose and, by twenty, he will have a share of the business, and be on the highway towards making his fortune. It will be infinitely better than anything he is likely to find in England, and he will be doing a man's work at the age when he would still be a schoolboy in England.

"I have spoken to him about it. Of course, he does not like leaving you, but he says that he should like it a thousand times better than, perhaps, having to go into some humdrum office in England."

"Thank you, Tom," Mrs. Brooke said with a sigh. "It will be very hard to part with him—terribly hard—but I see that it is by far the best thing for him and, as you say, in a monetary way it will be a relief to me. I think I can manage very comfortably on the pension, in some quiet place at home, with the two girls; but Stanley's schooling would be a heavy drain. I might even manage that, for I might earn a little money by painting; but there would be the question of what to do with him when he left school and, without friends or influence, it will be hopeless to get him into any good situation.

"You see, Herbert's parents have both died since he came out here and, though he was distantly related to the Earl of Netherly, he was only a second cousin, or something of that kind, and knew nothing about the family; and of course I could not apply to them."

"Certainly not, Nellie," her brother agreed. "There is nothing so hateful as posing as a poor relation—and that is a connection rather than a relationship. Then you will leave the boy in my hands?"

"I am sure that it will be best," she said, with a tremor in her voice, "and at any rate, I shall have the comfort of knowing that he will be well looked after."

Mrs. Brooke was the widow of a captain in one of the native regiments of the East India Company. He had, six weeks before this, been carried off suddenly by an outbreak of cholera; and she had been waiting at Calcutta, in order to see her brother, before sailing for England. She was the daughter of an English clergyman, who had died some seventeen years before. Nellie, who was then eighteen, being motherless as well as fatherless, had determined to sail for India. A great friend of hers had married and gone out, a year before. Nellie's father was at that time in bad health; and her friend had said to her, at parting:

"Now mind, Nellie, I have your promise that, if you should find yourself alone here, you will come out to me in India. I shall be very glad to have you with me, and I don't suppose you will be on my hands very long; pretty girls don't remain single many months, in India."

So, seeing nothing better to do, Nellie had, shortly after her father's death, sailed for Calcutta.

Lieutenant Brooke was also a passenger on board the Ava, and during the long voyage he and Nellie Pearson became engaged; and were married, from her friend's house, a fortnight after their arrival. Nellie was told that she was a foolish girl, for that she ought to have done better; but she was perfectly happy. The pay and allowances of her husband were sufficient for them to live upon in comfort; and though, when the children came, there was little to spare, the addition of pay when he gained the rank of captain was ample for their wants. They had been, in fact, a perfectly happy couple—both had bright and sunny dispositions, and made the best of everything; and she had never had a serious care, until he was suddenly taken away from her.

Stanley had inherited his parents' disposition and, as his sisters, coming so soon after him, occupied the greater portion of his mother's care, he was left a good deal to his own devices; and became a general pet in the regiment, and was equally at home in the men's lines and in the officers' bungalows. The native language came as readily to him as English and, by the time he was ten, he could talk in their own tongue with the men from the three or four different districts from which the regiment had been recruited. His father devoted a couple of hours a day to his studies. He did not attempt to teach him Latin—which would, he thought, be altogether useless to him—but gave him a thorough grounding in English and Indian history, and arithmetic, and insisted upon his spending a certain time each day in reading standard English authors.

Tom Pearson, who was five years younger than his sister, had come out to India four years after her. He was a lad full of life and energy. As soon as he left school, finding himself the master of a hundred pounds—the last remains of the small sum that his father had left behind him—he took a second-class passage to Calcutta. As soon as he had landed, he went round to the various merchants and offices and, finding that he could not, owing to a want of references, obtain a clerkship, he took a place in the store of a Parsee merchant who dealt in English goods. Here he remained for five years, by which time he had mastered two or three native languages, and had obtained a good knowledge of business.

He now determined to start on his own account. He had lived hardly, saving up every rupee not needed for actual necessaries and, at the end of the five years he had, in all, a hundred and fifty pounds. He had, long before this, determined that the best opening for trade was among the tribes on the eastern borders of the British territory; and had specially devoted himself to the study of the languages of Kathee and Chittagong.

Investing the greater portion of his money in goods suitable for the trade, he embarked at Calcutta in a vessel bound for Chittagong. There he took passage in a native craft going up the great river to Sylhet, where he established his headquarters; and thence—leaving the greater portion of his goods in the care of a native merchant, with whom his late employer had had dealings—started with a native, and four donkeys on which his goods were packed, to trade among the wild tribes.

His success fully equalled his anticipations and, gradually, he extended his operations; going as far east as Manipur, and south almost as far as Chittagong. The firm in Calcutta from whom he had, in the first place, purchased his goods, sent him up fresh stores as he required them; and soon, seeing the energy with which he was pushing his business, gave him considerable credit, and he was able to carry on his operations on an increasingly larger scale. Sylhet remained his headquarters; but he had a branch at Chittagong, whither goods could be sent direct from Calcutta, and from this he drew his supplies for his trade in that province.

Much of his business was carried on by means of the waterways, and the very numerous streams that covered the whole country, and enabled him to carry his goods at a far cheaper rate than he could transport them by land; and for this purpose he had a boat specially fitted up with a comfortable cabin. He determined, from the first, to sell none but the best goods in the market; and thus he speedily gained the confidence of the natives, and the arrival of his boats was eagerly hailed by the villagers on the banks of the rivers.

He soon found that money was scarce; and that, to do a good business, he must take native products in barter for his goods; and that in this way he not only did a much larger trade, but obtained a very much better price for his wares than if he had sold only for money; and he soon consigned considerable quantities to the firm in Calcutta and, by so doing, obtained a profit both ways. He himself paid a visit to Calcutta, every six months or so, to choose fresh fashions of goods; and to visit the firm, with whom his dealings, every year, became more extensive. But, though laying the foundations for an extensive business, he was not, as he told his sister, at present in a position to help her; for his increasing trade continually demanded more and more capital, and the whole of his profits were swallowed up by the larger stocks that had to be held at his depots at Sylhet, Chittagong, and at the mouths of the larger rivers.

Twice since he had been out he had met his sister at Calcutta, and when she came down after her husband's death, and heard from Tom's agents that he would probably arrive there in the course of a fortnight, she decided to wait there and meet him. He was greatly grieved at her loss, and especially so as he was unable to offer her a home; for as his whole time was spent in travelling, it was impossible for him to do so; nor indeed, would she have accepted it. Now that her husband was gone, she yearned to be back in England again. It was, too, far better for the girls that she should take them home. But when he now offered to take the boy she felt that, hard as it would be to leave Stanley behind, the offer was a most advantageous one for him.

The boy's knowledge of Indian languages, which would be of immense advantage to him in such a life, would be absolutely useless in England and, from what Tom told her of his business, there could be little doubt that the prospects were excellent. Stanley himself, who now saw his uncle for the first time, was attracted to him by the energy and cheeriness of manner that had rendered him so successful in business; and he was stirred by the enterprise and adventure of the life he proposed for him. More than once, in the little-frequented rivers that stretched into Kathee, his boats had been attacked by wild tribesmen; and he had to fight hard to keep them off. Petty chiefs had, at times, endeavoured to obstruct his trading and, when at Manipur, he had twice been witness of desperate fights between rival claimants for the throne. All this was, to a boy brought up among soldiers, irresistibly fascinating; especially as the alternative seemed to be a seat in a dull counting house in England.

He was, then, delighted when his mother gave her consent to his remaining with his uncle; grieved as he was at being parted from her and his sisters. The thought that he should, in time, be able to be of assistance to her was a pleasant one; and aided him to support the pain of parting when, a week later, she sailed with the girls for England.

"I suppose you have not done any shooting, Stanley?" his uncle asked.

"Not with a gun, but I have practised sometimes with pistols. Father thought that it would be useful."

"Very useful; and you must learn to shoot well with them, and with fowling-piece and rifle. What with river thieves, and dacoits, and wild tribes—to say nothing of wild beasts—a man who travels about, as I do, wants to be able to shoot straight. The straighter you shoot, the less likely you are to have to do so. I have come to be a good shot myself and, whenever we row up a river, I constantly practise—either at floating objects in the water, or at birds or other marks in the trees. I have the best weapons that money can buy. It is my one extravagance, and the result is that, to my boatmen and the men about me, my shooting seems to be marvellous; they tell others of it, and the result is that I am regarded with great respect. I have no doubt, whatever, that it has saved me from much trouble; for the natives have almost got to believe that I only have to point my gun, and the man I wish to kill falls dead, however far distant."

Two days after the departure of Mrs. Brooke, her brother and Stanley started down the Hoogly in a native trader.

"She is a curious-looking craft, uncle."

"Yes; she would not be called handsome in home waters, but she is uncommonly fast; and I find her much more convenient, in many ways, than a British merchantman."

"Is she yours, uncle?"

"No, she is not mine, and I do not exactly charter her; but she works principally for me. You see, the wages are so low that they can work a craft like this for next to nothing. Why, the captain and his eight men, together, don't get higher pay than the boatswain of an English trader.

"The captain owns the vessel. He is quite content if he gets a few rupees a month, in addition to what he considers his own rate of pay. His wife and his two children live on board. If the craft can earn twenty rupees a week, he considers that he is doing splendidly. At the outside, he would not pay his men more than four rupees a month, each, and I suppose that he would put down his services at eight; so that would leave him forty rupees a month as the profit earned by the ship.

"In point of fact, I keep him going pretty steadily. He makes trips backwards and forwards between the different depots; carries me up the rivers for a considerable distance; does a little trade on his own account—not in goods such as I sell, you know, but purely native stores—takes a little freight when he can get it, and generally a few native passengers. I pay him fifteen rupees a week, and I suppose he earns from five to ten in addition; so that the arrangement suits us both, admirably.

"I keep the stern cabin for myself. As you see, she has four little brass guns, which I picked up for a song at Calcutta; and there are twenty-four muskets aft. It is an arrangement that the crew are to practise shooting once a week, so they have all come to be pretty fair shots; and the captain, himself, can send a two-pound shot from those little guns uncommonly straight.

"You will be amused when you see us practising for action. The captain's wife and the two boys load the guns, and do it very quickly, too. He runs round from gun to gun, takes aim, and fires. The crew shout, and yell, and bang away with their muskets. I take the command, and give a few pice among them, if the firing has been accurate.

"We have been attacked, once or twice, in the upper waters; but have always managed to beat the robbers off, without much difficulty. The captain fires away, till they get pretty close; and I pepper them with my rifles—I have three of them. When they get within fifty yards, the crew open fire and, as they have three muskets each, they can make it very hot for the pirates. I have a store of hand grenades and, if they push on, I throw two or three on board when they get within ten yards; and that has always finished the matter. They don't understand the things bursting in the middle of them. I don't mean to say that my armament would be of much use, if we were trading along the coast of the Malay Peninsula or among the Islands, but it is quite enough to deal with the petty robbers of these rivers."

"But I thought that you had a boat that you went up the rivers in, uncle?"

"Yes; we tow a rowboat and a store boat up, behind this craft, as far as she can go; that is, as long as she has wind enough to make against the sluggish stream. When she can go no further, I take to the rowboat. It has eight rowers, carries a gun—it is a twelve-pounder howitzer—that I have had cut short, so that it is only about a foot long. Of course it won't carry far, but that is not necessary. Its charge is a pound of powder and a ten-pound bag of bullets and, at a couple of hundred yards, the balls scatter enough to sweep two or three canoes coming abreast and, as we can charge and fire the little thing three times in a minute, it is all that we require, for practical purposes.

"It is only on a few of the rivers we go up that there is any fear of trouble. On the river from Sylhet to the east and its branches in Kathee or, as it is sometimes called, Kasi, the country is comparatively settled. The Goomtee beyond Oudypore is well enough, until it gets into Kaayn, which is what they call independent. That is to say, it owns no authority; and some villages are peaceable and well disposed, while others are savage. The same may be said of the Munnoo and Fenny rivers.

"For the last two years I have done a good deal of trade in Assam, up the Brahmaputra river. As far as Rungpoor there are a great many villages on the banks, and the people are quiet and peaceable."

"Then you don't go further south than Chittagong, uncle?"

"No. The Burmese hold Aracan on the south and, indeed, for some distance north of it there is no very clearly-defined border. You see, the great river runs from Rangoon very nearly due north, though with a little east in it; and extends along at the back of the districts I trade with; so that the Burmese are not very far from Manipur which, indeed, stands on a branch of the Irrawaddy, of which another branch runs nearly up to Rungpoor.

"We shall have big trouble with them, one of these days; indeed, we have had troubles already. You see, the Burmese are a great and increasing power, and have so easily conquered all their neighbours that they regard themselves as invincible. Until the beginning of the eighteenth century, the Burmese were masters of Pegu; then the people of that country, with the help of the Dutch and Portuguese, threw off their yoke. But the Burmese were not long kept down for, in 1753, Alompra—a hunter—gathered a force round him and, after keeping up an irregular warfare for some time, was joined by so many of his countrymen that he attacked and captured Ava, conquered the whole of Pegu and, in 1759, the English trading colony at Negrais were massacred.

"This, however, was not the act of Alompra, but of the treachery of a Frenchman named Levine, and of an Armenian; who incited the Burmese of the district to exterminate the English—hoping, no doubt, thus to retrieve, in a new quarter, the fortunes of France, which in India were being extinguished by the genius of Clive. The English were, at the time, far too occupied with the desperate struggle they were having, in India, to attempt to revenge the massacre of their countrymen at Negrais.

"Very rapidly the Burman power spread. They captured the valuable Tenasserim coast, from Siam; repulsed a formidable invasion from China; annexed Aracan, and dominated Manipur, and thus became masters of the whole tract of country lying between China and Hindustan. As they now bordered upon our territory, a mission was sent in 1794 to them from India, with a proposal for the settlement of boundaries, and for the arrangement of trade between the two countries. Nothing came of it, for the Burmese had already proposed, to themselves, the conquest of India; and considered the mission as a proof of the terror that their advance had inspired among us.

"After the conquest by them of Aracan, in 1784, there had been a constant irritation felt against us by the Burmese; owing to the fact that a great number of fugitives from that country had taken refuge in the swamps and islands of Chittagong; from which they, from time to time, issued and made raids against the Burmese. In 1811 these fugitives, in alliance with some predatory chiefs, invaded Aracan in force and, being joined by the subject population there, expelled the Burmese. These, however, soon reconquered the province. The affair was, nevertheless, unfortunate, since the Burmese naturally considered that, as the insurrection had begun with an invasion by the fugitives in Chittagong, it had been fomented by us.

"This was in no way the fact. We had no force there capable of keeping the masses of fugitives in order; but we did our best, and arrested many of the leaders, when they returned after their defeat. This, however, was far from satisfying the Burmese. A mission was sent, to Ava, to assure them of our friendly intentions; and that we had had nothing whatever to do with the invasion, and would do all we could to prevent its recurrence. The Burmese government declined to receive the mission.

"We, ourselves, had much trouble with the insurgents for, fearful of re-entering Burma after their defeat, they now carried on a series of raids in our territory; and it was not until 1816 that these were finally suppressed. Nevertheless, the court of Ava remained dissatisfied; and a fresh demand was raised for the surrender of the chiefs who had been captured, and of the whole of the fugitives living in the government of Chittagong. The Marquis of Hastings replied that the British government could not, without a violation of the principles of justice, deliver up those who had sought its protection; that tranquillity now existed, and there was no probability of a renewal of the disturbances; but that the greatest vigilance should be used, to prevent and punish the authors of any raid that might be attempted against Aracan.

"A year later a second letter was received, demanding on the part of the king the cession of Ramoo, Chittagong, Moorshedabad, and Dacca; that is to say, of the whole British possessions east of the Ganges. Lord Hastings simply replied that if it was possible to suppose that the demand had been dictated by the King of Ava, the British government would be justified in regarding it as a declaration of war. To this the Burmese made no reply. Doubtless they had heard of the successes we had gained in Central India, and had learned that our whole force was disposable against them.

"Three years ago the old king died, and a more warlike monarch succeeded him. Since 1810 they have been mixed up in the troubles that have been going on in Assam, where a civil war had been raging. One party or other has sought their assistance, and fighting has been going on there nearly incessantly and, two months ago, the Burmese settled the question by themselves taking possession of the whole country.

"This has, of course, been a serious blow to me. Although disorder has reigned, it has not interfered with my trading along the banks of the river; but now that the Burmese have set up their authority, I shall, for a time anyhow, be obliged to give up my operations there; for they have evinced considerable hostility to us—have made raids near Rungpoor, on our side of the river, and have pulled down a British flag on an island in the Brahmaputra. We have taken, in consequence, the principality of Cachar under our protection—indeed its two princes, seeing that the Burmese were beginning to invade their country, invited us to take this step—and we thus occupy the passes from Manipur into the low country of Sylhet."

"I wonder that you have been able to trade in Manipur, uncle, as the Burmese have been masters there."

"I am not trading with the capital itself, and the Burmese have been too occupied with their affairs in Assam to exercise much authority in the country. Besides, you see, there has not been war between the two countries. Our merchants at Rangoon still carry on their trade up the Irrawaddy; and in Assam, this spring, the only trouble I had was that I had to pay somewhat higher tolls than I had done before. However, now that Cachar is under our protection, I hope that I shall make up for my loss of trade, in Assam, by doing better than before in that province."

"I thought you called it Kathee, uncle?"

"So it is generally named but, as it is spoken of as Cachar in the proclamation assuming the protectorate, I suppose it will be called so in future; but all these names, out here, are spelt pretty much according to fancy."

While this conversation had been going on, the boat had been running fast down the river, passing several European vessels almost as if they had been standing still.

"I should not have thought that a boat like this would pass these large ships," Stanley said.

"We have a good deal to learn in the art of sailing, yet," his uncle replied. "A great many of these Indian dhows can run away from a square-rigged ship, in light weather. I don't know whether it is the lines of their hulls or the cut of the sails, but there is no doubt about their speed. They seem to skim over the water, while our bluff-bowed craft shove their way through it. I suppose, some day, we shall adopt these long sharp bows; when we do, it will make a wonderful difference in our rate of sailing. Then, too, these craft have a very light draft of water but, on the other hand, they have a deep keel, which helps them to lie close to the wind; and that long, overhanging bow renders them capital craft in heavy weather for, as they meet the sea, they rise over it gradually; instead of its hitting them full on the bow, as it does our ships. We have much to learn, yet, in the way of ship building."

The trader had his own servant with him, and the man now came up and said that a meal was ready, and they at once entered the cabin. It was roomy and comfortable, and was, like the rest of the boat, of varnished teak. There were large windows in the stern; it had a table, with two fixed benches; and there were broad, low sofas on each side. Above these the muskets were disposed, in racks; while at the end by the door were Tom Pearson's own rifles, four brace of pistols, and a couple of swords. Ten long spears were suspended from the roof of the cabin, in leather slings. The floor, like the rest of the cabin, was varnished.

"It looks very comfortable, uncle."

"Yes; you see, I live quite half my time on board, the rest being spent in the boat. My man is a capital cook. He comes from Chittagong, and is a Mug."

"What are Mugs, uncle?"

"They are the original inhabitants of Aracan. He was one of those who remained there, after the Burmese had conquered it, and speaks their language as well as his own. I recommend you to begin it with him, at once. If things settle down in Assam, it will be very useful for you in arranging with the Burmese officials. You won't find it very easy, though of course your knowledge of three or four Indian tongues will help you. It is said to be a mixture of the old Tali, Sanscrit, Tartar, and Chinese. The Tartar and Chinese words will, of course, be quite new to you; the other two elements will resemble those that you are familiar with.

"I talk to the man in Hindustani. He picked up a little of it at Chittagong, and has learned a good deal more, during the two years that he has been with me; and through that you will be able to learn Burmese."

A week later the dhow entered the harbour. Stanley had passed most of his time in conversation with Khyen, Tom's servant. The facility his tongue had acquired in the Indian languages was of great benefit to him, and he speedily picked up a good many Burmese sentences.

For the next six months he continued, with his uncle, the work the latter had carried on; and enjoyed it much. They sailed up the sluggish rivers, with their low, flat shores, in the dhow; towing the rowboat and the store boat behind them. The crews of these boats lived on board the dhow until their services were required, helping in its navigation and aiding the crew when the wind dropped and sweeps were got out.

The villages along the banks were for the most part small, but were very numerous. At each of these the dhow brought up. There was, in almost all cases, sufficient water to allow of her being moored alongside the banks and, as soon as she did so, the natives came on board to make their purchases and dispose of their produce. In addition to the European and Indian goods carried, the dhow was laden with rice, for which there was a considerable demand at most of the villages.

As soon as he had learned the price of the various goods, and their equivalent in the products of the country, Stanley did much of the bartering; while his uncle went ashore and talked with the head men of the village, with all of whom he made a point of keeping on good terms, and so securing a great portion of the trade that might, otherwise, have been carried by native craft.

Three times during the six months the dhow had gone back to Calcutta, to fetch fresh supplies of goods and to take in another cargo of rice; while the trader proceeded higher up the river, in his own boats. While on the voyage, Stanley always had the rifle and fowling piece that his uncle had handed over, for his special use, leaning against the bulwark, close at hand; and frequently shot waterfowl, which were so abundant that he was able to keep not only their own table supplied, but to furnish the crew and boatmen with a considerable quantity of food. They had had no trouble with river pirates, for these had suffered so heavily, in previous attacks upon the dhow, that they shunned any repetition of their loss. At the same time every precaution was taken for, owing to the intestine troubles in Cachar and Assam, fugitives belonging to the party that happened, for the time, to be worsted, were driven to take refuge in the jungles near the rivers; and to subsist largely on plunder, the local authorities being too feeble to root them out. The boats, therefore, were always anchored in the middle of the stream at night and two men were kept on watch.

To the south as well as in the north, the trading operations were more restricted; for the Burmese became more and more aggressive. Elephant hunters, in the hills that formed the boundary of the British territory to the east, were seized and carried off; twenty-three in one place being captured, and six in another—all being ill treated and imprisoned, and the remonstrances of the Indian government treated with contempt by the Rajah of Aracan. It was evident that the object of the Burmese was to possess themselves of this hill country in order that they might, if they chose, pour down at any time into the cultivated country round the town of Ramoo.

"There is no doubt, Stanley," said his uncle one day, "we shall very shortly have a big war with the Burmese. The fact that these constant acts of aggression are met only by remonstrances, on our part, increases their arrogance; and they are convinced that we are in mortal terror of them. They say that in Assam their leaders are openly boasting that, ere long, they will drive us completely from India; and one of their generals has confidently declared that, after taking India, they intend to conquer England. With such ignorant people, there is but one argument understood—namely, force; and sooner or later we shall have to give them such a hearty thrashing that they will be quiet for some time.

"Still, I grant that the difficulties are great. Their country is a tremendous size, the beggars are brave, and the climate, at any rate near the sea coast, is horribly unhealthy. Altogether it will be a big job; but it will have to be done, or in a very short time we shall see them marching against Calcutta."

Chapter 2: The Outbreak of War.

On the last day of September, 1823—just a year after Stanley had joined his uncle—the dhow sailed into Chittagong; which had now taken the place of Sylhet as the traders' chief depot, the latter place being too near the Burmese, in Assam, for him to care about keeping a large stock of his goods there. He went ashore as soon as the dhow cast anchor, Stanley remaining on board.

"The fat is all in the fire, Stanley," Tom Pearson said, when he returned. "The Burmese have attacked and killed some of our troops, and it is certain that the government cannot put up with that."

"Where was it, uncle?"

"Down at the mouth of the Naaf. As you know, that is the southern boundary of the province, and there was a row there in January. One of our native boats laden with rice was coming up the river, on our side of the channel, when an armed Burmese boat came across and demanded duty. Of course, our fellows said they were in their own waters, whereupon the Burmese fired upon them and killed the steersman. There were reports, then, that bodies of Burmese troops were moving about on their side of the river, and that it was feared they would cross over and burn some of our villages. Accordingly, our guard at the mouth of the river was increased to fifty men, and a few of these were posted on the island of Shapuree.

"This island lies close to our shore and, indeed, the channel between can be forded at low water. It has always formed part of the province of Chittagong, and there has never been any question raised by the Burmese as to this. However, the Viceroy of Aracan called upon our resident here to withdraw the guard, asserting the right of the King of Ava to the island.

"Since then letters have passed to and fro, but I hear that the Burmese have settled the question by landing on Shapuree. One night last week they attacked our post there, killed and wounded four of the sepoys, and drove the rest off the island. The Indian government have put up with a great deal, rather than engage in so costly and difficult an operation as a war with Burma, but it is impossible that we can stand this."

The Indian government, however, used every endeavour to avert the necessity for war; although the Rajah of Aracan lost no time in writing a letter to the government of Calcutta, stating that he had occupied the island of Shapuree, and that unless they submitted quietly to this act of justice, the cities of Dacca and Moorshedabad would be forcibly seized. In order, however, to postpone, at any rate, the outbreak of war, the government of Bengal resolved to give the court of Ava an opportunity to withdraw from the position taken up. They therefore acted as if the attack on the guard at Shapuree had been the action of the Viceroy of Aracan alone, and addressed a declaration to the Burmese government, recapitulating the facts of the case, pointing out that Shapuree had always been acknowledged by Burma as forming part of the province of Chittagong, and calling upon the government to disavow the action of the local authorities. The Burmese considered this, as it was in fact, a proof that the government of India was reluctant to enter upon a contest with them; and confirmed Burma in its confident expectation of annexing the eastern portions of Bengal, if not of expelling the English altogether.

In the meantime, Shapuree had been reoccupied by us. The Burmese—after driving out the little garrison—had retired and, two months after the attack, two companies of the 20th Native Infantry arrived by sea, from Calcutta, and landed there. A stockade was built, and two six-pounders placed in position. Another company was stationed on the mainland, and the Planet and three gunboats, each carrying a twelve-pounder, were stationed in the river.

The Burmese at once collected large bodies of troops, both in Aracan and Assam. The government of Bengal made preparations to defend our frontier, and especially the position in the north, as an advance of the Burmese in this direction would not only threaten the important towns of Dacca and Moorshedabad, but would place the invaders in dangerous proximity to Calcutta. Accordingly, a portion of the 10th and 23rd Native Infantry, and four companies of the Rungpoor local force, were marched to Sylhet; and outposts thrown forward to the frontier.

Seeing that the Burmese operations would probably commence in the north, Tom Pearson had, after completing his arrangements at Chittagong, sailed north to remove his depots from Sylhet, and other places that would be exposed to an attack from that direction. They reached Sylhet the first week in January. By this time Stanley, from his constant conversation with his uncle's servant, had come to speak Burmese as fluently as the Indian languages. He was now nearly sixteen, tall for his age, and active but, owing to the hot climate and the absence of vigorous exercise, he was less broad and muscular than most English lads of his age.

They found on landing that news had arrived, two days before, that a powerful army of Burmese had entered Cachar, from Manipur, and had defeated the troops of Jambhir Sing; that 4000 Burmese and Assamese had advanced from Assam into Cachar, and had begun to stockade themselves at Bickrampore, at the foot of the Bhortoka Pass; and that the third division was crossing into the district of Jyntea, immediately to the north of Sylhet. There was a complete panic in the town, and the ryots were flocking in from all the surrounding country, with their families and belongings; and were making their way down the country, in boats, to Dacca.

"I am afraid, Stanley, there is an end of trade, for the present. What we see here is, doubtless, taking place all over Cachar; and it would be just as bad down at Chittagong. It is a heavy blow, for I have done remarkably well this year, and was building up the foundations for a good business. No doubt, when this trouble is over. I shall be able to take it up again; and it may be, if we thrash the Burmese heartily, which we are sure to do in the long run, it may even prove a benefit. Still, there is no doubt that it is a very bad business for me. However as, just at present, there is nothing whatever to be done, I propose, as soon as the goods are all on board, to take a holiday, and go out and have a look at the fighting."

"You will take me with you, uncle?" Stanley asked eagerly.

"Certainly, lad. We don't mean to do any fighting ourselves, but only to look on; and it may be that, after it is over, you may be able to make yourself useful, if they want to ask questions of any Burmese prisoners."

"You think that there is no chance of their beating us?"

"I should think not, though of course there is no saying; still, I don't think these fellows will be able to stand against our troops. Of course, they have no idea, whatever, of our style of fighting, and have never met any really formidable foes; so that I imagine we shall make pretty short work of them. However, as we shall be mounted—for I will hire a couple of horses, there have been plenty of them driven into the town—we shall be able to make a bolt of it, if necessary. Of course, we will take our rifles and pistols with us."

The goods were not placed on board the dhow, but in what was called the store boat; as the trader had determined to take up his abode in his rowboat, which could move about much faster than the dhow; and to allow the captain of that craft to make a good thing of it, by taking down to Dacca as many of the fugitives as she would hold.

Finding that the Burmese division that had entered Jyntea was intrenching itself, at a few miles' distance, Major Newton, the officer commanding on the Sylhet frontier, concentrated his force at Jatrapur, a village five miles beyond the Sylhet boundary. Tom Pearson had introduced himself to Major Newton, and asked permission to accompany his force; saying that his nephew would be able, if necessary, to communicate with the Burmese either before or after the action, and that both would willingly act as aides-de-camp. The offer was accepted with thanks, and they rode out with him, on the evening of the 16th of January, 1824, to Jatrapur.

At one o'clock in the morning the troops were roused, and marched an hour later. At daybreak they came in sight of the stockade, and a few shots were at once fired upon the advanced guard by the Burmese. A portion of their force was lying in a village hard by.

Major Newton at once divided his command into two bodies. One of these was led by Captain Johnston against the front of the stockade. The other, under Captain Rowe, attacked the village adjoining. The Burmese stationed there gave way, after a very faint resistance. They were accustomed to rely always on stockades; and this attack upon them, when not so protected, shook them at once. Those in the stockade, however, made a resolute resistance.

Captain Rowe, after gaining possession of the village, and seeing the occupants in full flight, moved his force to aid the other division; and the Burmese, dispirited by the defeat of their countrymen, and finding themselves attacked on two sides, gave way and fled, leaving a hundred dead behind them; while on the British side but six sepoys were killed.

The Burmese fled to the hills, at a speed that rendered pursuit hopeless by the more heavily-armed troops; and the fugitives soon rallied, and effected their junction with the division advancing from Manipur. After the action Major Newton returned to Sylhet, and a few days later Mr. Scott, who had been appointed commissioner, arrived there and, advancing to Bhadrapur, opened communications with the Burmese. As, however, it became evident that the latter were only negotiating in order to gain time to intrench themselves near Jatrapur, to which they had returned, he again placed the matter in the hands of the military commanders.

The Burmese force amounted to about six thousand men. They had erected strong stockades on each bank of the river Surma, and had thrown a bridge across to connect them. Captain Johnston advanced with a wing of the 10th Native Infantry, a company of the 23rd Native Infantry, and a small party of men of a local corps. Small as was this force, he divided it into two parties. One of these, under Captain Rowe, crossed the river; and then both moved against the enemy. The Burmese opened fire as they advanced, but the sepoys marched gallantly forward, and drove the enemy out of their unfinished intrenchments at the point of the bayonet. The Assam division retreated hastily to the Bhortoka Pass, while the Manipur force stockaded itself at Doodpatnee.

The Assam division was first attacked, and the stockade carried at the point of the bayonet. Lieutenant Colonel Bowen, who now commanded, then moved against the position at Doodpatnee. This was very strong. Steep hills covered the rear; while the other faces of the intrenchments were defended by a deep ditch, fourteen feet wide, with a chevaux de frise of pointed bamboos on its outer edge. Although the position was attacked with great gallantry, it was too strong to be captured by so small a force; and they were obliged to withdraw to Jatrapur, with the loss of one officer killed and four wounded, and about one hundred and fifty sepoys killed and wounded.

However, their bravery had not been without effect, for the Burmese evacuated their stockade and retreated to Manipur, leaving Cachar free from its invaders. Thus, in less than three weeks, the Burmese invasion of the northern provinces had been hurled back by a British force of less than a tenth of that of the invaders.

Stanley and his uncle had been present at all these engagements and, in the absence of any cavalry, had done good service in conveying messages and despatches; and the lad had several times acted as interpreter between the officers and Burmese prisoners. Both received letters from the commissioner, thanking them for the assistance that they had rendered.

"That last affair was unfortunate, Stanley; and it is evident that these stockades of theirs are nasty places to attack, and that they ought to be breached by guns before the men are sent forward to storm them. However, as the Burmese have gone, our repulse does not matter much.

"Well, I felt sure that we should thrash them, but I certainly gave them credit for having a great deal more pluck than they have shown. As it is, if there is nothing fresh takes place here, the natives and little traders will soon be coming back from Dacca, and business will be better than before; for the Burmese have been talking so big, for the last three years, that no one has bought more than would just carry him on; while now they will be more inclined to lay in good stocks of goods.

"Tomorrow we will start for Chittagong. You see, I have a considerable store there; and there is a chance of much more serious fighting, in that quarter, than this little affair we have seen. The Governor of Aracan has, all along, been the source of troubles; and we may expect that he will cross into the province at the head of a large force, and may do an immense deal of damage, before we can get enough troops there to oppose him."

Descending the river they coasted along until they arrived, early in March, at Chittagong. They found that great alarm reigned there. In January, Bandoola, the greatest military leader of the Burmese, who was known to have been one of the most strenuous supporters of the war policy at the court of Ava, had arrived at Aracan and taken the command of the troops collected there, and had brought with him considerable reinforcements.

A wanton outrage that had been committed by the Burmese showed how intent they were upon hostilities. Owing to the unhealthiness of the islet of Shapuree, the sepoys stationed there had been withdrawn; and the Company's pilot vessel, Sophia, was ordered to join the gunboats off that island. Four deputies from the Burmese court arrived at Mungdoo, on the opposite shore; and these invited the commander of the Sophia to come on shore, in order that they might talk over with him, in a friendly way, the situation of affairs. He unsuspectingly accepted their invitation and landed, accompanied by an officer and some native seamen. The party were at once seized and sent prisoners to Aracan, where they were detained for a month, and then sent back to Mungdoo.

This wanton insult was followed by a formal declaration of war, by the government of India; and a similar document was issued by the court of Ava. The force at Sylhet was reinforced, and that in Chittagong increased. It consisted of a wing of the 13th and of the 20th Native Regiments, and a battalion of the 23rd, with a local levy, amounting in all to some 3000 men. Of these a wing of the 23rd, with two guns, and a portion of the native levies were posted at Ramoo, which was the point most threatened by an invasion from Aracan.

It was in the north that hostilities first commenced, a force moving into Assam and driving the Burmese before them. Several sharp blows were dealt the enemy and, had it not been for the setting in of the wet season, they would have been driven entirely out of Assam.

"I think, Stanley," his uncle said, after he had been a short time at Chittagong, "you had better go up to Ramoo, and see about matters there. Of course, until the Burmese move we cannot say what their game is likely to be; but it will be as well to get the stores ready for embarkation, in case they should advance in that direction. If they do so, get everything on board at once; and you can then be guided by circumstances. As the dhow came in yesterday, I can spare both our boats; and shall, of course, ship the goods here on board the big craft. Even if the Burmese come this way, I have no fear of their taking the town; and shall, of course, lend a hand in the defence, if they attempt it. You can do the same at Ramoo, if you like.

"I was chatting with Colonel Shatland yesterday. He tells me that a large fleet has been collected, and that an expedition will be sent to capture Rangoon so, in that case, it is likely that Bandoola and his force will march off in that direction.

"I think government are wrong. It will be impossible for the troops to move, when the wet season once sets in; and they will lose a tremendous lot of men from sickness, if they are cooped up in Rangoon. They had very much better have sent a few thousand men down here, to act on the defensive and repel any attempted invasion, until the rains are over; when they could have been shipped again, and join the expedition against Rangoon. It seems to me a mad-headed thing, to begin at the present time of the year. We have put up with the insults of the Burmese for so long that we might just as well have waited for the favourable season, before we began our operations in earnest."

Accordingly, on the following day Stanley started south for Ramoo and, on arriving there, took charge of the trading operations. Shortly after, meeting Captain Noton—who commanded there—in the street, he recognized him as an officer who had been stationed at the same cantonment as his father; and whom he had, four years previously, known well.

"You don't recognize me, Captain Noton," he said. "I am the son of Captain Brooke, of the 33rd."

"I certainly did not recognize you," the officer said, "but I am glad to meet you again. Let me think; yes, your name is Stanley, and a regular young pickle you used to be. What on earth are you doing here? Of course, I heard of your poor father's death, and was grieved, indeed, at his loss. Where is your mother? She is well, I hope."

"She went back to England with my sisters, two months after my father's death. I joined my uncle, her brother. He is a trader, and carries on business in the district between here and Sylhet, trading principally on the rivers; but of course the war has put a stop to that, for the present. We saw the fighting up in the north, and then came down to this district. He has remained at Chittagong, and I am in charge of goods here. I speak Burmese fairly now and, if I can be of any use to you, I shall be very glad to be so. There is not much business here; and the Parsee clerk, who is generally in charge, can look after it very well. I acted as interpreter with the troops in the north, and have a letter from Mr. Scott, the commissioner, thanking me for my services."

"I remember you used to be able to talk four or five of the native languages, but how did you come to pick up Burmese?"

"From a servant of my uncle's. We thought that there would be sure to be war, sooner or later; and that, after it was over, there would be a good chance of profitable trade on the Burmese rivers. I had no great difficulty in learning it from my uncle's man, who was a native of Aracan."

"I have no doubt you will find it very useful. What a big fellow you have grown, Stanley; at least, as far as height is concerned. Let me see. How old are you, now?"

"I am past sixteen," Stanley replied. "I have had several touches of fever—caught, I suppose, from the damp on the rivers—but I think that I am pretty well acclimatized, now. I know I don't look very strong, but I have not had much active exercise and, of course, the climate is against me."

"Very much so. I wonder that you have kept your health as well as you have, in this steamy climate.

"I am going to the mess room, now. You had better come and lunch with me, and I will introduce you to the other officers. We are very strong in comparison to the force for, counting the assistant surgeon, there are ten of us."

"I shall be very glad, sir," Stanley said. "I have certainly been feeling rather lonely here; for I know no one, and there is very little to do. During the last year, I have often gone up one of the rivers by myself; but there has always been occupation while, at present, things are at a standstill."

"I tell you what, Brooke, if you would like it, I can appoint you interpreter. There is not one of us who speaks this Mug language—which is, you know, almost the same as Burmese—and the officers in charge of the native levy would be delighted to have some one with them who could make the fellows understand. I can appoint you a first-class interpreter. The pay is not very high, you know; but you might just as well be earning it as doing nothing, and it would give you a sort of official position and, as the son of a British officer, and my friend, you would be one of us."

"Thank you very much, Captain Noton. I should like it immensely. Should I have to get a uniform?"

"There will be no absolute necessity for it; but if you get a white patrol jacket, like this, and a white cap cover, it will establish you in the eyes of the natives as an officer, and give you more authority. Oh, by the way, you need not get them, for one of our lieutenants died, the other day, of fever. His effects have not been sold, yet; but you may as well have his patrol jackets and belts. We can settle what you are to pay for them, afterwards. It will only be a matter of a few rupees, anyhow."

They now arrived at the house that had been taken for the use of the officers. On entering, Captain Noton introduced him to the others and, as several of these had at various times met his father, in cantonments or on service, he was heartily welcomed by them and, at luncheon, they listened with great interest to his accounts of the fighting, in Cachar, with the Burmese.

"I fancy we shall find them more formidable, here, if they come," Captain Noton said. "Bandoola has a great reputation, and is immensely popular with them. From what you say, a considerable proportion of the fellows you met up there were Assamese levies, raised by the Burmese. I grant that the Burmese, themselves, do not seem to have done much better; but they would never have conquered all the peoples they have come across, and built up a great empire, if there had not been good fighting stuff in them. I have no doubt that we shall thrash them, but I don't think we shall do it as easily as our troops did in the north."

The time now passed pleasantly with Stanley. He had, after thinking it over, declined to accept payment for his services; for this would have hindered his freedom of action, and prevented his obeying any instructions that his uncle might send him. He therefore joined as a volunteer interpreter, and was made a member of the officers' mess. He was specially attached to the native levy and, soon acquiring their words of command, assisted its officers in drilling it into something like order.

Early in May a Burmese division, 8000 strong, crossed the Naaf and established itself at Rutnapullung, fourteen miles south of Ramoo. As soon as Captain Noton learned that the Burmese had crossed the river, he sent news of the fact to Chittagong, with a request that reinforcements should be at once sent to him; and then moved out with his force from Ramoo, to ascertain the strength of the enemy. The Burmese were seen upon some hills, where they were constructing stockades. The small British force advanced against them, drove them off the hills and, following them, prepared to attack them in the plain beyond. The guns, however, had not come up; partly owing to the cowardice of the elephant drivers, and partly to the fact that it was found that several of the essential parts of the guns had been left behind.

Without their assistance to clear the way, Captain Noton felt that it would be imprudent to attack so great a force; and therefore fell back to Ramoo. Here he was joined by three companies of the 20th Native Infantry, bringing up his force to close upon a thousand; of whom about half were sepoys, and the rest native levies. Had any energy, whatever, been shown by the officer in command of Chittagong, in sending up reinforcements—which he could well have spared, now that the point of attack by the Burmese had been made clear—Captain Noton might have taken the offensive, in which case serious disaster would have been avoided, and the Burmese would have been driven back across the Naaf. None, however, came and, on the morning of the 13th of May, the enemy appeared on the hill east of Ramoo, being separated from the British force by the river of the same name.

There was some difference of opinion, among the officers, as to whether it would be better to maintain a position outside the town, or to retreat at once; but the belief that reinforcements might arrive, at any hour, caused Captain Noton to determine to keep in the open, and so to cover the town as long as possible.

On the evening of the 14th, the Burmese came down to the river as if to cross it; but retired when the two six-pounder guns opened fire upon them. That two small guns should produce such an effect confirmed the British officers in their opinion that the Burmese, although they might defend stockades well, were of little use in the open. The next morning, however, the enemy effected the passage of the river farther away and then, advancing, took possession of a large tank surrounded by a high embankment.

Captain Noton placed his force in an enclosure, with a bank three feet high. His right flank was protected by the river; and a small tank, some sixty paces in front, was occupied by a strong picket. On his left, somewhat to the rear, was another tank, and at this the native levies were placed. The main position was held by the sepoys, with the two six-pounders. As the Burmese advanced, a sharp fire was opened upon them; but they availed themselves of every irregularity of the ground, and of cover of all kinds, and threw up shelter banks with such rapidity that the fire was, by no means, so effective as had been expected.

During the day news came that the left wing of the 23rd Native Infantry had left Chittagong on the 13th and, as it should arrive the next day, Captain Noton determined to hold his ground; though the Burmese continued to press forward, and a good many men, as well as two or three officers, had been wounded by their fire. At nightfall, a consultation was held. The reinforcements were expected in the morning and, although the native levies had shown signs of insubordination, and evidently could not be relied upon to make a stand, if the Burmese attacked in earnest, it was resolved to retain the position.

During the night, the Burmese pushed forward their trenches. A heavy fire was maintained on both sides during the day, but it was with considerable difficulty that the officers in command of the levies kept the men from bolting.

"Things look very black," Captain Pringle said to Stanley, when the firing died away, at nightfall. "Reinforcements should have been here, today. It is scandalous that they should not have been pushed forward, at once, when we asked for them. Still more so that, when they once started, they should not have come on with the greatest possible speed. I doubt whether we shall be able to hold these cowardly curs together till tomorrow. If they bolt, the sepoys will be sure to do so, too; in fact, their position would be altogether untenable, for the Burmese could march round this flank and take them in rear.

"I wish to Heaven we had two or three companies of white troops, to cover a retreat. There would be no fear of the sepoys yielding to a panic, if they had British troops with them; but when they are outnumbered, as they are now, one can hardly blame them if they lose heart, when the enemy are ten times their strength, and will be twenty to one against them, if our fellows here bolt."

The next morning, the Burmese had pushed up their trenches to within twelve paces of the British lines, and a tremendous fire was opened. At nine o' clock, in spite of the efforts of their officers to keep them steady, the native levies bolted; and the officers with them dashed across the intervening ground towards the main body. One of them fell dead, and two others were wounded. Stanley was running, when he fell headlong, without a moment's thought or consciousness.

The Burmese occupied the tank as soon as the levies had abandoned it, and their fire at once took the defenders of the main position in flank. A retreat was now necessary, and the sepoys drew off in good order but, as the exulting Burmans pressed hotly upon them, and their cavalry cut off and killed every man who fell wounded from their ranks, they became seized with a panic. In vain their officers exhorted them to keep steady. Reaching a rivulet, the men threw down their rifles and accoutrements as they crossed it, and took to headlong flight.

The little group of officers gathered together, and fought to the end. Captains Noton, Truman, and Pringle; Lieutenant Grigg, Ensign Bennet, and Maismore the doctor were killed. Three officers, only, made their escape; of these, two were wounded.

The fugitives, both natives and sepoys, continued their flight; and when, two or three days later, they straggled into Chittagong, it was found that the total loss in killed and missing amounted to about two hundred and fifty. Those taken prisoners numbered only about twenty. All these were more or less severely wounded, for no quarter had been given. They had, in the pursuit, been passed over as dead; and when, after this was over, they were found to be alive, they were spared from no feeling of humanity, but that they might be sent to Ava, as proofs of the victory obtained over the British. The number actually found alive was greater, but only those were spared that were capable of travelling.

Among these was Stanley Brooke. He had remained insensible, until the pursuit had been discontinued. A violent kick roused him to consciousness and, sitting up, he found that half a dozen Burmese were standing round him. His first action, on recovering his senses, was to discover where he was wounded. Seeing no signs of blood on his white clothes, he took off his cap and passed his hand over his head; and found that the blood was flowing from a wound just on the top, where a bullet had cut away the hair and scalp, and made a wound nearly three inches long, at the bottom of which he could feel the bone.

Looking up at the Burmese, he said, in their own language:

"That was a pretty close shave, wasn't it?"

Two or three of them laughed, and all looked amused. Two of them then helped him to his feet; and the group, among whom there were some officers, then took him some distance to the rear, where he was ordered to sit down with three wounded sepoys who had been brought in.

Chapter 3: A Prisoner.

The little group of prisoners received several additions, until the number mounted up to twenty. The spot where they were placed was close to the bank of the river and, as all were suffering severely from thirst, Stanley asked and obtained permission from the guard to fetch some water. He first knelt down and took a long drink; then he bathed his head and, soaking his handkerchief with water, made it into a pad, placed it on the wound, and put his cap on over it. Then he filled a flask that he carried, and joined his companions. These were permitted to go down, one by one, to the river to drink and bathe their wounds.

Stanley had already learned, from them, all they knew of what had happened after he had been stunned by the bullet. Two of them had crossed the rivulet, before being wounded; and these said that they believed all the white officers had been killed, but that they thought most of the troops had got away.

"It is more than they deserved," Stanley said indignantly. "I don't say much about the Mugs. They had very little drill or discipline and, naturally, were afraid of the Burmese, who had long been their masters; but if the sepoys had kept together under their officers, they might all have escaped, for the Burmese would never have been able to break their ranks."

"Some of the officers had been killed, and most of them wounded, before the retreat began, sahib," one of the sepoys said apologetically, "and they were ten to one against us."

"Yes, I know that; but you who had fought before should have known well enough that, as long as you kept together, you could have beaten them off; and they would have been glad enough to have given up the pursuit, at last. No doubt they all wanted to have a share in the plunder of Ramoo."

"What do you think that they are going to do with us, sahib?"

"From what they said as they brought me here, I think that we shall be sent to Ava, or Amarapura. They lie close together, and the court is sometimes at one place and sometimes at the other. What they will do with us when we get there, I don't know. They may cut off our heads, they may put us in prison; anyhow, you may be sure that we shall not have a pleasant time of it.

"All we have to hope for is that the capture of Rangoon, by our fleet, may lower their pride and bring them to treat for terms. It sailed nearly six weeks ago from Calcutta, and was to have been joined by one from Madras and, allowing for delays, it ought to have been at Rangoon a fortnight since, and would certainly capture the place without any difficulty. So possibly by the time we reach Ava we shall find that peace has been made.

"Still, the Burmese may not consider the loss of Rangoon to be important, and may even try to recapture it—which you may be sure they won't do, for I heard at Chittagong that there were some twenty thousand troops coming; which would be quite enough, if there were but good roads and plenty of transport for them, to march through Burma from end to end."

In the evening food was brought to the prisoners and, talking with some of the Burmese who came up to look at them, Stanley learned that Bandoola himself had not accompanied the force across the Naaf, and that it was commanded by the rajahs who ruled the four provinces of Aracan. Upon the following morning the prisoners were marched away, under a strong guard. Six days later they reached the camp of Bandoola. They were drawn up at a distance from the great man's tent. He came down, accompanied by a party of officers, to look at them. He beckoned to Stanley.

"Ask him if he is an officer," he said to an interpreter, standing by his side.

The man put the question in Hindustani. Stanley replied, in Burmese:

"I am an officer, your lordship, but a temporary one, only. I served in the Mug levy, and was appointed for my knowledge of their tongue."

"How is it that you come to speak our language?" Bandoola asked, in surprise.

"I am a trader, your lordship, but when our trade was put an end to, by the outbreak of the war, I entered the army to serve until peace was made. I learned the language from a servant in the service of my uncle, whose assistant I was."

The Burmese general was capable of acts of great cruelty, when he considered it necessary; but at other times was kindly and good natured.

"He is but a lad," he said to one of his officers, "and he seems a bold young fellow. He would be useful as an interpreter to me, for we shall want to question his countrymen when we make them all prisoners. However, we must send him with the others to Ava, as he is the only officer that we have taken; but I will send a message to some of my friends, at the court, asking them to represent that I consider he will be useful to me; and praying that he may be kept for a time and treated well, and may be forwarded to me, again, when I make my next move against the English."

The following day the prisoners started under the escort of twenty soldiers, commanded by an officer of some rank, who was specially charged to take them safely to Ava. It was a fortnight's march to the Irrawaddy. Until they neared the river the country was very thinly populated but, when they approached its banks, the villages were comparatively thick, standing for the most part in clearings in a great forest. On the march the Burmese officer frequently talked with Stanley, asked many questions about England and India; and was evidently surprised, and somewhat sceptical, as to the account the lad gave him of the fighting strength of the country. He treated him with considerable indulgence, and sent him dishes from his own table.

When not talking with him, Stanley marched at the head of the little party of prisoners—all of whom were sepoys, no quarter having been given to the native levies. Of an evening, Stanley endeavoured to keep up the sepoys' spirits by telling them that probably, by this time, the British expedition had arrived at Rangoon, and captured it; and that peace would most likely follow, and they might be exchanged for any Burmese who fell into the hands of the English.

When they reached a village on the banks of the river the population, on seeing them, came round and would have maltreated them; had not the officer interfered, and said he had Bandoola's orders to carry them safely to the court, and that anyone interfering with them would be severely punished. The head man of the village bent low, on hearing the general's name.

"I ask your pardon, my lord. The prisoners shall not be touched. But have you heard the news?"

"I have heard no news," the officer said.

"It arrived here yesterday, my lord. The barbarians have had the audacity to sail up, with a great fleet of ships, to Rangoon. They had vessels of war with them and, though our forts fired upon them, they had so many cannon that we could not resist them, and they have captured the town. This happened a fortnight since."

The officer stood thunderstruck at what appeared, to him, to be an act of audacious insolence. However, after a moment's pause, he said wrathfully:

"It is of little matter. The town was weak, and in no position for defence; but a force will soon go down to sweep these barbarians away. Now, get ready your war galley, as soon as possible."

Each village on the river was compelled, by law, to furnish a war galley for the king's service whenever it might be required. These carried from fifty to a hundred men, and some three hundred of these boats were always available for service, and constituted one of the strongest divisions of the fighting force of the Burman empire. The village was a large one, and in half an hour the crew of the galley were on board and, rowing forty oars, started up the river.

"What think you of this news?" the officer said, beckoning to Stanley to take his place in front of him. "These men must be mad, to tempt the anger of the Lord of the Golden Stool, the mighty Emperor. Had you heard aught of this?"

"I heard but a vague rumour that a fleet had been collected, but I heard nothing for certain as to its destination."

"It is madness," the officer repeated. "We shall sweep them into the sea. How many of them are there, do you think?"

"As to that I can say little, my lord. I only heard a report that some ships and troops were to sail—some from Madras and some from Calcutta—but of the number of the men and ships, I know nothing for certain."

"They have taken evil council," the officer said, gravely. "I have heard that they gained some slight advantage, in Cachar; but there they had but irregular troops to meet, largely Assamese, who are but poor cowards. This little success must have turned their heads. They will now have our regular forces to deal with, and these will number a hundred thousand—or twice as many, if necessary. Think you that the handful that would be transported in ships can stand against such a host?"

"There may be more than you think, my lord. Many of the ships will be very big, much bigger than those that trade with Rangoon; and some of them will carry as many as five hundred men."

"Even so," the officer said scornfully; "if there were twenty-five such ships, or even fifty, the force would be as nothing to us. They will have to take to their vessels, as soon as our army approaches."

"It may be so, sir; but I think that they will scarce go without fighting. I would represent to you that, although much fewer in numbers than your army which attacked us, at Ramoo, the troops made a stout fight of it; and that they fought steadily, until the Mugs ran away. After that, from what I hear, I admit that they fled shamefully. But the troops that come to Rangoon will be better than those were, for there will be white regiments among them; and though these may, as you say, be overpowered with numbers and destroyed, I do not think that you will see them running away."

"And you think that they will really venture to withstand us?

"I think that they will endeavour to do so."

"Why, there will scarce be an occasion for fighting," the officer said, disdainfully. "They were mad to come; they are madder, still, to come now. The rainy season is just at hand. In another week it will be upon us. The rivers will spread, the flat country will be a marsh. Even we, who are accustomed to it, suffer. In places like Rangoon fever and disease will sweep them away and, when the dry season comes and our troops assemble to fight them, there will be none left. They will die off like flies. We shall scarce capture enough to send as prisoners to the emperor."

Stanley felt that, in this respect, the Burman's prophecies were but too likely to be fulfilled. He knew how deadly were the swamp fevers to white men; and that in spite of his comfortable home on board the dhow and boat, he had himself suffered although, during the wet season, his uncle made a point of sailing along the coast, and of ascending only rivers that flowed between high banks and through a country free from swamps. He remembered that his uncle had spoken, very strongly, of the folly of the expedition being timed to arrive on the coast of Burma at the beginning of the wet season; and had said that they would suffer terribly from fever before they could advance up the country, unless it was intended to confine the operations to the coast towns, until the dry season set in.

It would indeed have been impossible to have chosen a worse time for the expedition but, doubtless, the government of India thought chiefly of the necessity for forcing the Burmese to stand on the defensive, and of so preventing the invasion of India by a vast army. Unquestionably, too, they believed that the occupation of Rangoon, and the stoppage of all trade, would show the court of Ava that they had embarked in a struggle with no contemptible foe; and would be glad to abate their pretensions, and to agree to fair terms of peace.

The Bengal force that had been embarked consisted of two British regiments—the 13th and 38th—a battalion of native infantry, and two batteries of European artillery, amounting in all to 2175 men. The Madras force—of which one division was sent on at once, the other was to follow shortly—consisted of the 41st and 89th Regiments, the Madras European regiment, seven battalions of native infantry, and four batteries of artillery, amounting to 9300 men; making a total of 11475 fighting men, of whom nearly five thousand were Europeans. In addition to the transports, the Bengal force was accompanied by a flotilla of twenty gun-brigs and as many row-boats, each armed with an eighteen-pounder; the Larne and Sophia sloop, belonging to the Royal Navy; several of the Company's cruisers; and the steamboat Diana. General Sir A. Campbell was appointed to the chief command, and Colonel M'Bean, with the rank of Brigadier General, commanded the Madras force.

The Bengal squadron sailed from Saugur in the middle of April; and reached the rendezvous, Port Cornwallis, in the Andaman Islands, at the end of the month. The Madras first division sailed at the same time, and joined them a few days later; and the whole force, under the escort of H. M. frigate Liffey and the Slaney, sloop of war, left Port Cornwallis on the 5th of May, and arrived on the 9th at the mouth of the Irrawaddy.

Forces were detached for the capture of the islands of Chuduba and Negrais. On the 10th the fleet entered the river and anchored within the bar and, on the following morning, proceeded with the flood tide up to Rangoon, the Liffey and the Larne leading the way. A few shots were fired as they went up the river; but the Burmese were taken wholly by surprise, the idea that the English would venture to invade them never having entered their minds.

There was considerable disappointment on board the fleet, when Rangoon came into sight. It was situated on the north bank of the main branch of the river, thirty miles from the sea. It extended about nine hundred yards along the bank, and was six or seven hundred yards wide, at its broadest part. Beyond the town were some suburbs, outside the palisade that inclosed it. The palisades were ten or twelve feet high, strengthened by embankments of earth thrown up against them, on the inner side. One face of the defences ran along the river bank, while the others were protected by a shallow creek communicating with the river. The town itself consisted, for the most part, of miserable and dirty hovels; and of a few official buildings of larger size.

At twelve o'clock the Liffey anchored abreast of the principal battery, close to the water gate; the transports being ranged in a line in rear of her. A proclamation had been sent on shore, on the previous day, giving assurances of protection to the people at large, and to all who should offer no resistance.

When the guns of the fleet were loaded, a pause ensued. The town was evidently incapable of offering resistance, and it was hoped that it would capitulate. The Burmese were seen standing at their guns, but they also remained inactive, apparently paralysed at the appearance of this great fleet of vessels—of a size hitherto undreamt of by them—and the threatening guns pointed towards them. However, they were at last goaded, by the orders and threats of their officers, to open fire upon the ships.

The frigate at once replied with a broadside. In a very few minutes, every gun on shore was silenced, and the Burmese fled in confusion from their works. As soon as they did so, the signal for disembarkation was made. The troops crowded into the boats, which rowed for the shore; and the soldiers entered the town without resistance, and found it completely deserted.

The whole of the population had been driven out by the governor on the previous day and, according to Burmese custom, the men had all been formed into a levy, while the women and children were held under guard, as hostages for their husbands and fathers—their lives being forfeited in case of desertion, or cowardice, by their male relations.

The foreigners in the town had all been seized. They were few in number, consisting of some eight or ten British traders and American missionaries. These, after being fettered, were taken to the Custom House prison. They were brought up and tried, early on the morning of the attack, and were accused of having arranged the assault on the town. They naturally urged that, if they had had the least knowledge that it was going to be made, they would have left the place in time. But the Burmese at once condemned them to death, and they were taken back to the prison to be executed.

The sentence was not carried out. The Burmese had intended to execute them on the walls, in sight of their countrymen; and the authorities had all assembled at the prison for the purpose when, fortunately, a shot from the first broadside fired passed through the building, causing an instant stampede. The chiefs at once left the city; and the prisoners, heavily chained, were marched some distance into the country. A party of British troops were, however, pushed forward in advance of the town, as soon as it was occupied; and the guard, in alarm for their own safety, placed the prisoners in a house and made off; and a patrol found them there, on the following morning, and brought them into the town.

The great pagoda, standing two miles and a half from the town, was at once occupied as an advanced position by the British. It stood upon a conical hill, rising seventy-five feet above the plain. The area on the top was somewhat over two acres; and in the centre rose the pagoda, three hundred and thirty-eight feet high.

Every boat on the river was found to have been removed. In spite of proclamations promising good treatment, none of the inhabitants returned to the town, being prevented from doing so by the Burmese authorities and troops. No stores whatever had been found and, till the end of the wet season, the army had to depend entirely upon the fleet for provisions; and remained cooped up in the wretched and unhealthy town, suffering severely from fever and malaria.

The boat in which Stanley and the other prisoners were conveyed was changed at every village going up the river, as the officer was carrying the despatches from Bandoola to the court. A flag was hoisted as the boat came in sight of a village. This was the signal that another was required and, within two or three minutes of their arrival, the prisoners, their guard and officer were on their way again.

Thus they proceeded, night and day and, in four days, arrived at Ava. Leaving the prisoners in charge of the guard, the officer at once proceeded to the palace. In an hour guns were fired, drums beat, and the bells of the pagodas rung, to give notice to the population that a great victory had been won over the English, and their army annihilated, by Bandoola and his valiant troops. This obliterated the impression produced by the news that had arrived, a few days previously, of the landing at Rangoon; and there were great rejoicings among the population.

An officer from the palace presently came down to the boat, and the prisoners were marched through the streets to a jail, amid the jeers of the mob. Stanley was surprised at the meanness of the town; the great majority of the houses being built of bamboo, and thatched with grass, and having a very poor appearance. The public buildings and the houses of the great officers were constructed of planks, and tiled; but were heavy and tasteless, and it was only upon the innumerable pagodas, in and around the town, that any care seemed to have been bestowed.

He had wondered much at the numerous pagodas that they had seen, near every town and village, as they passed up; but the officer had informed him that these were all private property, and that it was considered the most meritorious of actions to erect one; consequently every man who had means to do so built a pagoda, large or small in proportion to the sum that he could bestow upon it. On Stanley's remarking upon the great number that were in ruins, the officer replied that it was considered so much more meritorious an action to build a pagoda than to repair one that, after the death of the founder, they were generally suffered to fall into decay.

For some days the prisoners were taken out, every day, and marched about the town for some time, so as to afford the population ocular proof of the victory gained by Bandoola. The place in which they were confined was small and filthy but, at the end of a week, Stanley was taken out and placed in a room by himself; and here the officer who had had charge of him paid him a visit, an hour or two later.

"I have expressed to the court," he said, "the wishes of the general, and have had permission accorded for you to receive different treatment from the others; partly because you are an officer, but principally because the general thinks that you may be made useful to him. I have informed the officer of the prison that you are to be at liberty to walk about in the city, when you please; but that to protect you from violence, an officer and two soldiers are to accompany you, so long as you may think such a precaution necessary. I have ordered a dress of our fashion to be brought to you as, otherwise, you could not go into the streets without being mobbed."

Stanley expressed his gratitude to the officer for obtaining these indulgences, and the latter replied:

"I acted upon the orders of the general, but it has been a pleasure to me; for I see that you are a young man of merit, and I have learned much from you about your people during the journey; and have seen that, foolish as they have been to undertake to match themselves against us, there are yet some things that might be learned from them; and that, if they had remained in their island, many months' journey away from here, they might have been worthy of our friendship."

A short time after the officer had left, a soldier brought up some food of a very much better nature than that with which Stanley had been hitherto supplied. Half an hour later, the dress arrived. It was that of a Burmese officer of inferior grade; and consisted of a tunic of thick cloth, coming down to the knees; leathern sword belt; a sort of tippet resembling that of an English coachman, with three layers of cloth thickly quilted; and a leathern helmet going up to a point in the centre, with a flap to protect the neck and ears. With it were worn tight-fitting stockings of cloth, and low shoes.

Presently an officer came in.

"I am ordered to go out with you, once a day, at whatever hour you may desire. I am a relative of the officer who brought you here, and he has requested me to look after your safety."

"I am much obliged to you, sir," Stanley said, "and shall be glad, indeed, to go out to see the city. Your kinsman has kindly sent me a dress; but if I am not to be noticed, it will be necessary for me to stain my face and hands, somewhat."

"That I have thought of," the officer said, "and have brought with me some dye which will darken your skin. It would be worse than useless for you to dress as a Burman, unless you did so; for it would seem even more singular, to the people in the streets, that a white man should be seen walking about dressed as an officer, than that a white prisoner should be taken through the streets under a guard.

"I am ready to go out with you now, if you wish it."

"I shall be ready in a few minutes," Stanley replied and, on being left alone, at once changed his attire and stained his face and hands.

He had just finished when the officer returned. He smiled and said:

"There is no fear of your being suspected, now; and you might really go about safely without a guard, unless you were to enter into conversation with anyone. You speak the language very well, but your accent is not quite the same as ours, here, though in Aracan it would pass unremarked."

As they went out from the prison, the officer told two soldiers who were waiting there to follow, at a distance.

"Do not approach us," he said, "unless I call you up."

The houses were not constructed in continuous rows, but were very scattered, each house having its inclosure or garden. The population was very small, in comparison to the area occupied by the town. This was divided into two parts—the inner and outer town. The whole was surrounded by a brick wall, five miles and a half in circumference, some sixteen feet high and ten feet in thickness, strengthened on the inside by a great bank of earth. The inner town was inclosed by a separate wall, with a deep ditch on two sides, the river Irrawaddy on the third, and a tributary river on the fourth.

A considerable portion of the inclosed area was occupied by the royal quarter; containing the palace, the court of justice, the council chamber, arsenal, and the houses of the ministers and chief officials. This was cut off from the rest by a strong and well-built wall, twenty feet high, outside which was a stockade of the same height. The total population of Ava was but 25,000.

The officer did not take Stanley to the royal quarter, observing that it was better not to go there as, although he had leave to walk in the town, it might give offence were he to show himself near the palace; but after going through the wall, they visited two or three of the markets, of which there were eleven in the town.

The markets consisted of thatched huts and sheds, and were well supplied with the products of the country. Here were rice, maize, wheat, and various other grains; sticks of sugar cane, tobacco, cotton, and indigo; mangoes, oranges, pineapples, custard apples, and plantains were in abundance; also peacocks, jungle fowl, pigeons, partridges, geese, ducks, and snipes—but little meat was on sale, as the Burman religion forbids the killing of animals for food. Venison was the only meat allowed to be sold in the markets; but there were lizards, iguanas, and snakes, which were exposed freely for sale; and there were large quantities of turtle and tortoise eggs, which had been brought up from the delta.

Stanley saw that there had really been no great occasion for him to stain his skin, as the people were, for the most part, lighter in colour than the Hindoos. Many of the men had, however, stained their faces to a darker colour; and all were tattooed, more or less. Men, women, and children were all smoking; and frequently, when both hands were required for any purpose, thrust their cigars into the large holes bored in the lobes of their ears. Both men and women were somewhat short in stature, but squarely built and muscular and, in the majority of cases, inclined to be fat.

The men wore a sort of kilt, consisting of a double piece of cloth, wrapped round the body and falling to the knee. Over this was a loose tunic, with sleeves open in front. The headdress was a scanty white turban.

The dress of the women was somewhat similar to that of the Hindoos, consisting of a single garment like a sheet wrapped round the body, fastening under the arms and falling to the ankles. Those of the upper classes were more elaborate. The rank among the women was distinguished, so Stanley's guide pointed out to him, by the manner in which the hair was plaited and twisted, and by the ornaments in it.

The men, like the women, wore their hair long but, while the men wore theirs in a knot at the top of the head, the women gathered it in at the back. Their faces were broad at the cheekbones, but narrowed in sharply, both at the forehead and chin. The narrow and oblique eyes showed the relationship between the Burmese and their Chinese neighbours. They seemed to Stanley a light-hearted, merry people, going about their business with much chatter and laughter; and the sound of musical instruments could often be heard, inside the houses. Several men, in bright yellow garments, mingled with the crowds in the market. These were priests, the officer told him; and it would be a mortal act of sacrilege, were anyone else to wear that colour.

Stanley remarked upon seeing so few soldiers, and the officer told him that there was no regular army in Burma. Every man capable of carrying arms was obliged to serve in case of war but, with the exception of the king's bodyguard, and a very small body of men who were police, rather than soldiers, there was no force permanently kept up. Every man was expected to know something of military duty, and all were able to build stockades. From the fact that the flesh of wild fowl formed one of the principal articles of food, the peasantry throughout the country were all accustomed to the use of the gun, and were fair marksmen.

"But you yourself are an officer," Stanley said.

"At present, yes; but tomorrow I may return to my land. It is the same with the highest minister. One day he may be a trader but, if recommended to the king as one possessing ability, straightway he is chosen to be a high official. If he does not please the king, or fails in his duties, then the next day he may be selling cloth in the bazaar again.

"Everything is at the will of the king. Nobody is born with fortune or rank, for everything belongs to the king and, at a man's death, all goes back to him. Thus everyone in the land has an equal chance. In war the bravest becomes a general, in peace the cleverest is chosen as a councillor."

Walking about, Stanley soon found that there were a great variety of dialects talked in the streets, and that the language of the Burmese of the coast, of the natives of Pegu and the central province, and of those from districts bordering on the Shan states or the frontiers of China, differed as widely as those of the most remote parts of Great Britain did from each other. This being so, he was convinced that there would be no difficulty, whatever, in passing as a native, without attracting any observation or inquiry, so far as the language went.

His features and, still more, the shape of his face might, however, be noticed by the first comer, in the daytime. He thought, indeed, that a little tinge of colour in the corner of the eyes, so as to lengthen their appearance and give an oblique cast to them, would make a difference. The general shape of the head was unalterable, but the Burmese nose and mouth did not differ very greatly from the European; except that the nostrils were smaller and, in shape, were round rather than oval.

For three weeks he continued the same life, and then the Burmese officer, with whom he had now become very friendly, said when he entered one morning:

"You must not go out today. There is news that your people have made two forward marches. The first was against a stockade, which they took, and killed many of our men; the other time they marched out four or five miles, had a fight with our troops, and again killed many. These things have angered the king and the people. Of course it is nothing, for our troops are only beginning to assemble; but it is considered insolent in the extreme, and the king's face is darkened against your countrymen. Four of the prisoners have been taken out this morning and publicly executed and, if the news of another defeat comes, I fear that it will be very dangerous, even for you."

"What had I best do, my friend?"

"I would fain save you, for we have come to know each other; and I see that there is much good in your ways, though they differ greatly from ours. Were I to take you out, as usual, you might be killed in the streets; were you to slip away and escape, I should assuredly be put to death; but if in any way I can help you, I would fain do so. My relation who brought you up here left, a fortnight since, to rejoin Bandoola; so his influence cannot serve you.

"I do not say that you might not escape from this prison—since you are not, like the others, confined in a dungeon—but I see not what you could do, or where you could go. Were you to disappear, orders would be sent down the river to every village, and every passing craft would be examined, and you would be sure to be detected; while it would be well-nigh impossible to travel the country on foot, for it is but thinly inhabited. There are often very long distances between the villages, and much of the country is swamp and forest, without paths; for the village trade goes by the river, and they have little communication with each other.

"I know that, from what you say, you think that your troops will beat ours, even when we assemble in large numbers. Were this so, I fear that there would be little chance of your life being spared. Were it not for that, I should say that, Bandoola having recommended you, you would be in no danger here, and had better remain until peace is made.

"What think you, yourself?"

"It is very difficult to reply, at once," Stanley said, "but I thank you greatly for your offer to befriend me, in any way you can. I do not say that I had not thought of escape, for I have of course done so. But it seemed to me a thing in the distance; and that, at any rate until the rains were over and the rivers had sunk, it would be useless to attempt it. I see, now, that it will be safest for me to try without delay. If you will come in again, this afternoon, I will tell you what I have thought of."

"I will do so; and I, myself, will try to think how best the matter can be managed. We must remember that the great thing is for you to find concealment, for the present. After the search for you has been made for some time, it will die away; and it will then be the easiest plan for you to make your way down the river."

Chapter 4: A Ruined Temple.

After the officer left him, Stanley sat thinking for a long time. He himself inclined strongly towards the river; but he saw that, at present, the difficulties would be very great. The war boats were passing up and down, and bodies of troops were being carried down in large craft. In every village the men, he knew, were assembling and drilling. Even in Ava he could see the difference in the population, the proportion of men to women having markedly decreased since his arrival.

As to the journey by land, it appeared to him impossible. He was, too, altogether without money and, whether by water or land, it would be necessary to go into the villages to buy provisions. Indeed, money would have been almost useless, for there was no coined money in Burma; payments being made in lead, for small amounts, or in silver for large ones—the quantity necessary being cut off from small sticks or bars, or paid in filings.

It seemed to him that the best thing would be to take to the forest, for a time; and endeavour to subsist upon wild fruits or, if these were not to be found there, to go out into the fields and orchards at night, and so manage to hold on for a few weeks. His friend told him that, in the forests along the principal lines of route to the capital, were many bad characters—persons who had committed crime and fled from justice. Some were cultivators who, having been unable to pay their taxes, had deserted their land and taken to the woods. All committed depredations, and traders coming into the town from the Shan states, or from the country where rubies and emeralds were found, always travelled in caravans for mutual protection. At times levies were called out, and many of these marauders were killed.

Stanley, then, had hit upon nothing definite when the officer returned in the afternoon and, in reply to the latter's question, he acknowledged at once that the only thing he could see was to take to the forest, until the active search for him had ceased.

"You would find it difficult to maintain yourself. I have thought of a better way than that. I am acquainted with a Phongee, who lives in a temple in a lonely spot, four miles away. He is a good man, though somewhat strange in his habits; and I feel sure that, on my recommendation, he would take you in. There would be little chance of your being discovered there. You could not go dressed as you are, but must disguise yourself as a peasant; though it might be well to retain your present attire, which may be useful to you, afterwards. I fear that you will fare badly with him, in the way of food; there will be enough to eat, but it will be of the simplest."

"So that there is enough to keep life together, it matters little what it is."

"Then that is settled.

"Now, about making your escape from here. Your door is closely barred, at night; and there is no window save those four little holes, high up in the wall, which scarce a bird could get through."

"I could cut through the thatch above," Stanley said, "if I had but something that I could stand upon to do so. There are some bamboos lying just at the bottom of the steps. With these and some cord I might make a sort of ladder, and should then be able to get at the thatch."

"I will bring you some cord, tomorrow, for that and to let yourself down to the ground. Then I will arrange where to meet you, and will guide you out of the town and take you to the priest. I will bring a disguise for you, and some stain for your body and arms for, as a peasant, you would be naked to the waist. I can think of nothing better."

"I thank you most heartily," Stanley said, "and trust that you may get into no trouble for the kindness that you have shown me."

"There is no fear of that, my friend. No one will know that I have been away from the town. I am greatly afraid that this will be all that I shall be able to do for you; for I am told that I am to go down the river with the next batch of troops, which will start in three days. I have only been informed of it since I saw you this morning. Had it not been for you I should have been glad; for it is in war time, only, that one can obtain honour and promotion."

"I am sorry that you are going, sir. I shall miss your kindness, sorely; but I can understand your desire to go to the front. It is the same with us; when there is a war, every officer and soldier hopes that his regiment will be sent there. However, I shall see you again.

"Has Bandoola's army moved yet?"

"No; nor do I think that it will do so. It is a long march down to Rangoon from Ramoo; and I believe that he will remain where he is, until he sees how matters go at Rangoon. As soon as your people are driven out, he will be joined by a great army, and will march to Dacca. There our troops from the north will join him; and then he will go to India, we think."

"I fancy," Stanley said with a smile, "if he waits until we are turned out from Rangoon, his stay at Ramoo will be a long one."

The next day the officer brought several yards of strong cloth, such as was worn by the peasants; a piece of muslin to make the circular band that was worn by the lower class, instead of a complete turban; and a lot of horse hair to be worn on the top of the head.

"Now," he said, "strip to the waist, and I will dye your body. I have dyes of two colours here; one for the skin, and the other to draw lines on the face, so as to make you look older; and with this I can also imitate tattoo marks on your chest and shoulders. Here is a long knife, such as everyone wears, and here is the cord.

"As soon as it is getting dark you must carry up two of the bamboo poles, taking care that no one observes you do so. There is seldom anyone in the courtyard. I have had the knife sharpened, and it will cut through the thatch, easily enough. When you get away, walk straight to the market that lies nearest to us. I will be at its entrance. It will take you, I suppose, two hours to make your ladder and get out. You cannot begin until the guard closes your door. You tell me he never comes in."

"No, he brings the last meal an hour before sunset. I generally sit on the top of the steps, till he comes up to lock the door, which is about nine o'clock; and I do not see him again until he unbars the door in the morning. I should not think that it will take as long as two hours to make the ladder, and cut the thatch; at any rate, by eleven I ought to join you.

"I suppose the gates are open."

"Oh, yes! They are never closed, though of course they would be, if an enemy were near. There is no guard anywhere."

After staining Stanley's skin, the officer waited a quarter of an hour for it to dry thoroughly; and then proceeded to draw lines on his face, across the forehead, and from the corners of his eyes; and then spent nearly an hour in executing rough tattoo marks on his body and arms.

"This dye is very good, and will last for weeks before it begins to fade. I will bring with me another bottle, tonight, so that you can at least re-dye your skin.

"Here is some wax. You must turn your hair up from the neck, and plaster it in its place with it. The turban will prevent anyone seeing how short the hair is. Here is a little bottle of black dye, with which you had better colour it, before fixing it with the wax."

Stanley's hair had not been cut for some time before he had been captured by the Burmese and, in the two months that had since elapsed, it had grown very long; and could therefore be turned up as the officer suggested. Putting on his usual garments, he sat at his place, at the door of the cell, until the guard brought up his evening meal. Having eaten this, he dyed his hair and, half an hour later, turned it up, plastering it with wax, and tied a bit of fibre round where the turban would come.

By this time it was getting dusk. He sat at the door at the top of the steps, until he saw that the courtyard was deserted; the guard at the gate having gone outside, to enjoy the coolness of the air. Then he ran down the steps, took two bamboo poles about ten feet in length, and two short pieces of the same wood no thicker than his finger and, hurrying up the steps with them, laid them down against the side of the room. Then he went to the steps again, and sat there until he saw the guard coming across to fasten his door; when he went in and, as soon as he heard the bars put up, began his preparations.

First he lashed the short pieces across the ends of the two bamboos, so as to keep them a foot apart; then he put ratlines across, and soon had the ladder completed. He made up his clothes into a bundle, wrapped the rough cloth round his waist, adjusted the knot of horse hair on the top of his head, and fastened it there with wax. He wound the turban round below, and his disguise was complete.

Fixing the ladder against the wall he climbed it, and it was not long before he cut a hole through the thatch of sufficient size to pass out. The work had taken him longer than he had expected, for it had to be done in absolute darkness; however, he was sure that he was well within his time. Fastening the end of the rope to one of the bamboo rafters, he descended the ladder and picked up his bundle; then climbed up again, got halfway out of the hole, and listened intently. Everything was quiet in the street and, in another minute, he stood on the ground.

When he turned into the principal street, there were still many people about. Sounds of music and singing came from the windows, for the Burmese are very fond of music, and often pass the whole night in playing and singing. There was no risk whatever of detection now, and he stepped briskly along until he came to the open space, with its rows of little thatched huts. Here he paused for a minute, and the officer stepped out from behind a house and joined him.

"I was not sure at first that it was you," he said. "Your disguise is excellent. You had better follow me, now, until we get beyond the busy streets."

Keeping some twenty yards behind his guide, Stanley went on until, after nearly half an hour's walking, they passed through a gate in the city walls. He now closed up to the officer and, after another half-hour's walk across a cultivated country, they entered a forest. The ground now rose steadily and, after keeping on for two miles, they emerged from the trees at the top of a hill. The space had been cleared of timber, but it was nearly covered with bushes and young trees. In the centre were the ruins of a temple, that had evidently existed long before the Burmese dynasty occupied the country, and had been erected by some older race. It was roofless; the walls had, in places, fallen; and the ruins were covered with vegetation.

The Burman ascended some broken steps, entered the temple, and crossed to one of the opposite corners. A dim light was burning in a small apartment, which had been roofed with thatch. A man was lying, dressed, on a heap of leaves at one side. He started up as the officer entered.

"Who is it who comes here at this hour?" he asked.

"Thekyn," the officer answered.

"I am glad to see you," the Phongee said, "whatever may bring you here. You have not fallen into trouble, I hope?"

"In no way, good priest. I am starting, in two days, down the river to fight the barbarians; but before I go, I want you to do me a favour."

The Phongee smiled.

"Beyond naming you in my prayers, Thekyn, there is but little that a hermit can do for any man."

"Not so, in this case," the officer said. "I have one here with me who needs rest, and concealment. I would rather that you did not ask who he is. He has done no crime, and yet he is in danger; and for a month, maybe, he needs a shelter. Will you give it him, for my sake?"

"Assuredly I will," the priest said. "Your father was one of my dearest friends, in the days when I dwelt in the city. I would gladly do all in my power for his son, and this is but a small thing that you ask. Let him enter."

Stanley went in. The priest took down the little lamp, from a shelf on which it stood, and held it near the lad's face. Then he turned, with a smile, to Thekyn:

"The painting is but clumsily done," he said, "though maybe it would pass without close examination. He is a stranger, and comes of a race unknown to me but, as you said, it matters not to me who he is; suffice that he is a friend of yours. He is welcome to a share of my shelter, and my food; though the shelter is rough, and the food somewhat scanty. Of late few, indeed, have sought me for, as I hear, most of the men have gone down to the war."

"I have brought you some food," the officer said; for Stanley had observed that he also carried a bundle, a larger one than his own. "Here is a supply of rice, that will last for some time; and this, with your offerings, will suffice to keep things going. My friend is not, like you, bound by his religion not to take life; and I know that snakes are very plentiful round here."

Snakes had formed a frequent article of his diet, since he had been captured; and Stanley had lost the repugnance to them that he at first felt, so the prospect of their forming the staple of his food was not disagreeable to him. It would also afford him some employment to search for and kill them.

"I shall be well content," he said, "with anything that I can get, and trust that I shall be no burden upon you."

"You will assuredly be none," the priest replied. "Here must be at least thirty pounds of rice which, alone, would keep two men alive for a month. As regards the snakes, though I may not kill them, I may eat them when killed; and indeed, there are few things better. In truth, I should not be sorry to have some of the creatures out of the way; for they swarm round here so thickly that I have to pay great heed, when I walk, lest I step upon them."

"Have you been troubled with robbers, of late, father?" Thekyn asked.

"They trouble me not at all," the priest said. "Men come, sometimes. They may be robbers, or they may not. I ask no questions. They sometimes bring fruit and other offerings, and I know that I need not fear them. I have nought to lose, save my life; and he would be indeed an evil man who would dare to lift his finger against a priest—one who harms not anyone, and is ready to share what food he has with any man who comes to him hungry."

"Well, father, I will say goodbye. I must be back to the city before men are about, as I would not that my absence should be discovered."

"Peace be with you, my son. May you come back safe from the wars. My prayers will be said for you, night and morning.

"Be in no uneasiness as to your friend. If any should ask me about my companion, I shall reply that he is one who has undertaken to rid me of some of the snakes, who dispute the possession of this place with me."

Thekyn motioned to Stanley to come outside the hut with him and, when he did so, handed to him a small but heavy bag.

"This is lead," he said. "You will need it, when you start on your journey down the country. There are eight pounds of it and, from what you have seen in the market, you will know how much food can be got for a small amount of lead. I would that I could do more for you, and assist your flight."

"You have done much indeed, very much and, should I regain my friends, I will endeavour to do as much by one of your countrymen, for your sake. I hope that, when this war is over, I may meet you again."

"I hope so," the Burman said warmly. "I cannot but think that you will succeed in getting away."

"My son," the old priest said, when Stanley returned to his cell, "I am going to my prayers. I always rise at this hour, and pray till morning; therefore you may as well lay yourself down on these leaves. There is another cell, like this, in the opposite corner of the temple. In the morning you can cut boughs, and roof it like this; and make your bed there. There is no room for another, here; and it will doubtless be more pleasant for you to have a place to yourself, where you can go and come as you like; for in the day women come up to consult me, and ask for my prayers—but mind how you enter it for the first time as, like as not, there will be snakes sheltering there."

Stanley lay awake for a time, listening to the monotonous voice of the priest as he repeated his prayers; but his senses soon wandered, and he slept soundly till daybreak.

His first step was to cut a stout stick, and he then proceeded to the other cell, which was partially blocked up with stone from the fallen roof. It took him two hours to carry this stuff out, and he killed no less than nine snakes that he disturbed in his work. The prospect of sleeping in a place so frequented was not a pleasant one, especially as the cell had no door to it; and he resolved at once to erect some sort of bed place, where he might be beyond their reach. For this purpose he cut two poles, each three or four inches longer than the cell. One end of each he sharpened, and drove in between the interstices of the stone, at a distance of some two feet and a half apart and four feet from the ground. The other ends he hammered with a heavy stone against the opposite wall, until they would go down no farther. Then he split up some more wood and lashed strips, almost touching each other, underneath the two poles, by the aid of some strong creepers. Then he filled up the bed place, between the poles, with dry leaves.

One end of the bed was some inches higher than the other. This was immaterial, and he felt satisfied that even the craftiest snake could not reach him.

As to the roof, he was by no means particular about it. In this part of Burma the rainfall is very small, the inundations being the effect of heavy rains in the distant hill country which, as they come down, raise the level of the rivers, in some cases, as much as eighteen feet, and overflow the low-lying country.

Before beginning to construct the bed, he had carried the snakes into the Phongee; after first cutting off their heads which, as he knew, the Burmans never touch.

"This is good, indeed, my son," the priest said. "Here we have our breakfast and dinner. I will boil some rice, and fry four of them for breakfast."

The bed was but half completed, when he heard the priest sound a bell. It was doubtless used as a call to prayer. However, Stanley rightly conjectured that, in this case, it was a summons to a meal; and was soon seated on the ground by the side of the priest. Little was said at breakfast, which Stanley enjoyed heartily.

"So my friend Thekyn is starting for the wars. What think you of it, my son? Shall we easily overpower these barbarians? We have never met them in war before and, doubtless, their methods of fighting are different from ours."

"Quite different. Their men are trained as soldiers. They act as one man, while the Burmese fight each for himself. Then they have cannon with them, which they can drag about quickly, and use with great effect. Although they are few, in comparison with the armies going down to attack them, the latter will find it very difficult work to turn them out of Rangoon."

"Do you think that they will beat us, then?"

"That I cannot say, but I should not be surprised if it were to prove so."

"The Burmese have never been beaten yet," the priest said. "They have been victorious over all their enemies."

"The Burmese are very brave," Stanley agreed, "but, hitherto, they have only fought against people less warlike than themselves. Now they have to deal with a nation that has made war a study, and which always keeps up a large army of men who are trained to fight, and who spend all their time in military exercises. It is not that they are stronger than the Burmese, for the Burmese are very strong men; but only that men who are trained to act together must, necessarily, possess a great advantage over those who have had no such training—who simply take up arms for the occasion and, when the trouble is over, return to their homes and lay them by, until called out to fight again.

"Besides, their weapons are better than yours; and they have many cannon which, by practice, they can load and fire very quickly; and each of which, when the armies are near each other, can fire fifty or sixty bullets at once."

"I have heard a strange story that the barbarians have a ship without sails, with a great chimney that pours out quantities of black smoke, and a wheel on each side and, as the wheels move round, the vessel can go straight up the river against the tide, even if the wind is blowing strongly down."

"It is true, father, there are many such ships; but only two or three that have made the long voyage across stormy seas to India."

"It is wonderful how these men can force fire to be their servant, and how it can make the wheels of the ship to move round."

"That I cannot tell you, father. I have never seen one of these vessels, though I have heard of them."

The priest said no more, but evidently fell into a profound meditation; and Stanley, getting quietly up, returned to his work. The priest came in, just as he had completed his bed.

"That is well," he said, looking at it approvingly. "I myself, although I know that, until my time has come, no creature can harm me, cannot resist a shudder when I hear one rustling amid the leaves of my bed; for they come in, although some of my friends have had a door placed to exclude their entry at night. I wander but little from my cell, and always close the door after me; but they enter, sometimes, when I am meditating, and forgetful of earthly matters, and the first I know of their presence is the rustling of the leaves in the bed, at night. Were I as strong in faith as I should be, I would heed it not. I tell myself so; but my fear is stronger than my will, and I am forced to rise, turn up the leaves with a stick until I find them, and then I open the door and eject them, with as much gentleness as may be."

"I should get no sleep at all," Stanley said. "I don't think that even a door would make me feel any safer, for I might forget to shut it, sometimes. Tomorrow, father, I will wage war with them, and see if I cannot decrease their numbers considerably."

Stanley's first task was to clear the bushes away from the court of the temple; and this, after several days' hard work, he carried out; although he soon saw that by so doing he would not diminish the number of the snakes, for the greater portion of the area was covered with blocks of fallen stone, among which the reptiles found an impenetrable shelter. The clearance effected, however, was so far useful that, while the creatures were before altogether hidden from sight by the bushes, they could now be killed when they came out to bask in the sun on the uncovered stones; and he could, every day, destroy a dozen or more without the slightest difficulty.

Ten days after he had finished the work, he heard the sound of men's voices and, peeping out, saw a Burmese officer with a party of eight armed men going to the Phongee's cell. It was possible that they might have come on other business, but it was more probable they had come in search of him. Some of the women who had come up to the hermit had seen him at work; and might have mentioned, on their return, that the priest had a man at work clearing away the bushes. The matter might have come to the ears of some officer anxious to distinguish himself, and the idea that this was the prisoner for whom a search was being made occurred to him.

Stanley shrank back into his cell, took up the bundle of clothes that served as his pillow, got on to the bed and, standing on it, was able to get his fingers on to the top of the wall. He hoisted himself up, made his way through the boughs of the roof, and dropped on to the ground outside. Then he went round by the back of the temple, until he stood outside the priest's cell, and could hear the voices within without difficulty.

"Then you know nothing whatever of this man?"

"Nothing whatever," he replied. "As I have told you, he came to me and asked for shelter. I gave him such poor assistance as I could, as I should give it to anyone who asked me. He has been no burden upon me, for he has killed enough snakes for my food and his own."

"You know not of what part he is a native?"

"Not at all; I asked him no questions. It was no business of mine."

"Could you form any idea from his speech?"

"His speech was ours. It seemed to me that it was that of a native of the lower provinces."

"Where is he now?"

"I know not."

"You say that, at present, he is away."

"Not seeing him in front, I thought he had gone out; for he comes and goes as he pleases. He is not a hired servant, but a guest. He cut down the bushes here, in order that he might more easily kill the snakes; for which, indeed, I am thankful to him, not only for the food that they afford, but because they were in such abundance, and so fearless, that they often came in here, knowing that they had naught to fear from me."

"Then you think that he will return soon?"

"As he told me not of his intention of going out at all, I cannot say. He is away, sometimes, for hours in the forest."

"Well, in any case, we shall watch here until his return. It may be that he is some idle fellow, who prefers killing snakes to honest work; but it may also be that he is the escaped prisoner of whom we are in search."

"I hear little of what passes in the town," the priest said, quietly. "News would disturb my meditations, and I never question those who come here to ask for my prayers. I have heard of the escape of no prisoner."

"It was a young English officer who got away. There has been a great stir about it. Every house in the town has been searched, and every guard boat on the river has been warned to allow no boat to pass, without assuring themselves that he is not on board."

"This was a brown man, like ourselves, clad only in a petticoat of rough cloth, like other peasants."

"He may have dyed his skin," the officer said. "At any rate, we will stay until he returns, and question him. Two of my men shall take their places just inside the entrance, and seize him as he enters. Has he arms?"

"None, save his knife and the stick with which he kills the snakes. It may be that he has seen you coming hither and, if he has committed any crime, he would flee, and not return here at all."

"If he does not come back before it is the hour when I must return to the town, I shall leave four men to watch for him; and they will wait here, if it is for a week, until he comes back again."

"You can do as you please," the priest said, "only I pray you withdraw your men from the neighbourhood of this cell. I would not that my meditations were disturbed by their talk. I have come hither for peace and quietness, and to be apart from the world and its distractions."

"You shall not be disturbed," the officer said respectfully, and Stanley heard a movement of feet, and then the closing of the door.

Thinking it probable that the officer might make a search round the temple, he at once made off into the wood behind the temple. As soon as he was well among the trees, he exchanged his cloth for the disguise he had worn in the town and, folding it up to be used as a blanket at night, he went further into the wood, sat down, and proceeded to think what his next step had best be. It was evident that he could not return to the temple for the present; and it was clear, also, that the search for him was still maintained, and that it would not be safe to attempt to descend the river. He regretted that he had been obliged to leave the place without saying goodbye to the priest, and again thanking him for the shelter that he had given him; but he was sure that, when he did not return, the old man would guess that he had caught sight of the officer and his party entering the temple, and had at once fled. Had he not known that the guard would remain there, he would have waited until they returned to the town, and would then have gone in and seen the priest; but as they would remain there for some days, he thought it was as well to abandon all idea of returning, as the suspicions that he might be the man sought for would be heightened by his continued absence, and the watch might be continued for a long time, on the chance of his coming back.

He concluded that, at any rate, his best course would be to endeavour to make his way for a considerable distance down the country; and then to try and get a boat. He knew that the country near the river was comparatively thickly populated, and that the distances between the villages were not great, so that he would find no great difficulty in purchasing provisions. The dress he had brought with him was not altogether unfavourable for such a purpose, as he could easily pass as a sub-officer, whose duty it was to inquire whether the villages had each sent all their able-bodied men to the war. The only drawback to it would be that, if instructions for his arrest had been sent down to the villages along the road, as well as those by the river, they would have probably been directed to specially look for one clad in such attire. However, it would be open to him, at any moment, to take to his peasant's disguise again.

He at last determined to make a start and, by nightfall, had traversed several miles through the great forest stretching along by the side of the Panlaung river. He had asked many questions of his friend the officer, as they went up to the temple, as to the roads. He was told that there was one running almost due south to Ramuthayn, by which he could travel down to Rangoon, by way of Tannoo. This, however, would take him a long distance from the main river, and he decided that he would presently strike the road that ran about halfway between the hills and the Irrawaddy. He would follow that for a time, and would try and strike the river somewhere between Meloun and Keow-Uan.

Below this point there was a network of rivers, and but few villages, and the country was swampy and unhealthy. He infinitely preferred the risks of the descent by the river to those by road; and it seemed to him that, if he could but obtain possession of one of the small native fishing boats, he could drop down at night, unnoticed, as the width of the river at Ava was upwards of a thousand yards and, below that town, often considerably exceeded that breadth.

When it became too dark to proceed further, he sat down at the foot of a tree. He regretted that he had no means of lighting a fire; and determined that, at any risk, he would obtain the means of doing so at the first village that he came to—for he knew that there were both tigers and leopards in the jungles. He thought, however, that they were not likely to be numerous, so near the capital; and the old priest had never alluded to them as a source of danger though, indeed, it had never occurred to him to ask.

In the morning he continued his way. He had gone but a mile when he heard a sudden scream in the wood, a short distance to his left. Feeling sure that it was a human being, in great fear or pain, he drew his knife and ran, at the top of his speed, in the direction of the cry; thinking that it might be some man, or woman, attacked by the robbers of the forest.

Suddenly he came upon a small open space, some twenty yards in diameter. He hesitated, when his eyes fell on a group in the centre. Two men were lying on the ground, and a leopard stood with a paw on each of them. They had guns lying beside them, and a fire was burning close by. He guessed that the animal had sprung from a tree, one of whose boughs extended almost as far as the centre of the opening. Probably it had killed one of the men in its spring for, at the moment when he saw the animal, it was licking the blood from the shoulder of the man on whom its right paw rested. The other was, as far as Stanley could see, unhurt.

His tread in the light Burmese shoes had been almost noiseless; and the leopard, which was keeping up a low growling, and whose back was towards him, had apparently not noticed it. He hesitated for a moment, and then decided to endeavour to save the man who was still alive. Creeping up stealthily, he gave a sudden spring upon the leopard, and buried his knife to the hilt in its body, just behind the shoulder.

With a terrible roar, it rolled over for a moment, and then struggled to its feet. The time had been sufficient for Stanley to pick up and cock one of the guns and, as the leopard turned to spring at him, he aimed between its eyes and fired. Again the beast rolled over, and Stanley caught up the other gun, thrust the muzzle within a foot of its head, and fired. The leopard gave a convulsive quiver, and lay dead.

Chapter 5: With Brigands.

Stanley uttered an involuntary hurrah as the leopard expired; and at the sound the Burman, who had been lying motionless, leapt to his feet. He looked at the leopard, and then at his rescuer, and exclaimed in a tone of astonishment:

"You have slain the beast alone, and with no weapon but your knife!"

"No," Stanley replied; "I began the fight with my knife, only; but caught up one of those guns when I wounded him, and fired as he charged me. Then I finished him with the other."

"Comrade," the Burman said, "you have done a great deed, with courage. I, who am esteemed no coward, would never even have thought of attacking that great leopard with but a knife, and that to save the life of a stranger."

"I saw the guns lying on the ground. Had it not been for that, I should not have dared to attack the leopard, for it would have been certain death."

"Certain death, indeed. But tell me, first, how you did it. It seems to me well nigh a miracle."

"I was passing along, not far distant, when I heard your cry," Stanley said. "Thinking that it was some person in distress, I ran hither, and saw you both lying, with the leopard's forepaws upon you. The beast's back was turned to me and, as it was growling, it had not heard my approach. Seeing the guns lying there—and having no doubt that they were loaded—I stole up, sprang suddenly on the leopard, and drove my knife into it behind the shoulder. The blow rolled it over, and gave me time to pick up the gun. The rest was easy."

The man, without a word, examined the body of the leopard.

"It is as you say," he said. "It was well struck, and would probably have been fatal; but the animal would have torn you in pieces before he died, but for the guns.

"Well, comrade, you have saved my life; and I am your servant, so long as I live. I thought all was over with me. The leopard, as it sprang, threw its full weight on my comrade, here. We had just risen to our feet; and the blow struck me, also, to the ground. I raised that cry as I fell. I lay there, immovable. I felt the leopard's paw between my shoulders, and heard its angry growlings; and I held my breath, expecting every moment to feel its teeth in my neck.

"I had but one hope, namely, that the beast would carry off my comrade—who, I was well assured, was dead—to the jungle to devour him, and would then come back to fetch me. I managed to breathe once, very quietly, when I felt a movement of the leopard and, hearing a low sound, guessed that he was licking my comrade's blood; but slightly as I moved, the leopard noticed it, and stood straight up again over me. I dared not breathe again, but the time had come when I felt that I must do so, though I was sure that it would be the signal for my death.

"Then I knew not what had happened. There was a sharp pain as the leopard's claws contracted, and then there was a loud roar, and its weight was removed from me. Then I heard it snarl, as if about to spring. Then came the sound of a gun, a fall, and a struggle; and then the sound of another gun. Then I heard your shout, and knew the beast was dead.

"Now, sir, what can I do for you? Shall I first skin the leopard?"

"I care not for the skin," Stanley said. "It would be of no use to me."

"Then, with your permission, I will take it off, and keep it as long as I live, as a remembrance of the narrowest escape that I ever had."

"Is your comrade dead?"

"Yes," the man replied. "The leopard struck him between the shoulders as you see; and the force of the blow, and the weight of the spring, must have killed him instantaneously."

"Then I will take his sword, gun, and cartridges."

So Stanley undid the sword belt, and buckled it round him; put the bandolier of cartridges over his shoulders; and took up the gun and reloaded it, while the man was at work skinning the leopard. This operation the man performed with great speed. It was evidently one that he had done before. As soon as the beast was flayed, he rolled up the skin and placed it on his shoulder.

"You are an officer, sir?" he asked.

"No; I am a fugitive."

While he had been watching the man, Stanley had debated over whether he should confide in him; and thought that, after the service he had rendered him, he could do so with safety.

"I am an Englishman—I was captured by Bandoola, at Ramoo, and sent a prisoner to Ava. I have escaped, and want to make my way down to Rangoon; but I heard that orders had been sent along the river to arrest me, and I do not, at present, know how to make my way down."

"Come with me," the man said. "I have friends in the forest, some distance from here. They will receive you gladly, when I tell them what you have done for me; and you will be safe until you choose to go. We are outlaws but, at present, we are masters of the forest. The government has its hands full, and there is no fear of their disturbing us."

Stanley thought over the matter, for a minute or two. Doubtless it was a robber band that he was asked to join, but the offer seemed to promise safety, for a time.

"I agree," he said, "so that you do not ask me to take part in any deeds of violence."

"About that, you shall do as you like," the man said; "but I can tell you that we make good hauls, sometimes. Our difficulty is not to capture booty, but to dispose of it.

"Have you a turban? For that helmet of yours is out of place, in the woods. The rest of your dress has nothing peculiar about it, and would attract no attention."

"I have a turban. I have been, lately, in the dress of a peasant. The cloth I wore lies fifty yards away; I dropped it as I ran. It will be useful to cover me at night, if for nothing else."

Stanley exchanged the helmet for the turban that he had before worn, and fetched the cloth.

"Will you bury your companion?" he said.

"It would be useless. He will sleep above ground, as well as below and, if we are to reach my comrades tonight, it is time for us to be moving."

They at once set out. After five hours' walking, they came upon the river Myitnge, the tributary that falls into the Irrawaddy at Ava. It was some four hundred yards across. The Burman walked along its banks for a short distance, and then pulled from a clump of bushes a small boat, that was just capable of carrying two. He put it in the water. They took their seats, and paddled across to the other side; where he carefully concealed it, as before.

"That is our ferry boat," he said. "It is not often used, for our headquarters are in the great forest we shall presently come to; but it is as well when, occasionally, parties are sent out to hunt us, to have the means of crossing to the other side."

Another two hours' walking, through cultivated fields, brought them to the edge of the forest.

"Here you are as safe as if you were in Rangoon," the Burman said. "In another hour we shall reach my comrades. As a rule, we change our headquarters frequently. At present there is no question of our being disturbed; so we have settled ourselves, for a time."

"Why were you and your comrade on the other side of the river?

"His village lies five miles beyond that forest," the man said. "At ordinary times, he dared not venture there; but he thought that, at present, most of the able men would be away, and so he could pay a visit to his friends. He asked me to accompany him and, as I had nothing better to do, I agreed to go. A convoy of traders, too strong to be attacked, had passed down from the hill country the morning before we started. There was not much probability that anyone would come again, for a few days."

"They bring down rubies from there, do they not?"

"The mines are the property of the emperor," the man said, "and the gems are sent down, once every two months, under a strong guard; but for all that, many of the traders bring rubies down from there—of course, secretly. The men who work the mines often conceal stones that they come upon, and sell them for a small sum to the traders; besides, sometimes the peasants pick them up elsewhere—and these, too, make haste to sell them for anything that they can get. We do not care for them much, for it is a risky business going down to Ava to sell them; and the traders there, knowing that, at a word from them, we should be arrested and most likely executed, will give us next to nothing for them. We prefer silver and lead for money; and garments, arms, and set jewels.

"Each man takes his share of what is captured and, when we have enough, we go home to our villages. A pound of silver, or two or three pounds of lead, are generally quite enough to buy the goodwill of the head man of the village. We give out that we have been working on the river, or in Ava, since we left; and everyone knows better than to ask questions."

In another hour, they reached the encampment. It was now dusk, and some five-and-twenty men were sitting round a great fire. A number of leafy arbours had been constructed in a circle beyond them.

"What, returned so soon!" one of the men said, as Stanley's guide came near enough for the firelight to fall on his face; "but where is Ranji, and whom have you brought here—a new recruit?"

"Not exactly, Parnik, but one to whom I have promised shelter, for a while. Ranji is dead. I should have been dead, too, and eaten; had it not been for my comrade, here. Here is the skin of the beast who slew Ranji and, when I tell you that the leopard stood with one paw on me, you may guess that my escape was a narrow one."

"The brute was a large one," one of the other men said, as Meinik—for such was the name of Stanley's companion—unrolled and held the skin up. "I see it had a bullet between the eyes, and another just behind the ear; and there is a knife cut behind the shoulder. It must have been hot work, when it came to knives, with a beast of that size."

"Give us some food, and cocoa; we have eaten nothing today, and have walked far. When we have fed, I will tell you my story."

The Burman's recital of the adventure with the leopard excited great applause, and admiration, from his comrades.

"'Tis wonderful," one said, "not so much that our new comrade should have killed the leopard, though that was a great feat; but that, armed only with a knife, he should attack a beast like this, to save the life of a stranger. Truly I never heard of such a thing. Has he all his senses?"

Meinik nodded. He had received permission from Stanley to say who he was. Stanley had consented with some reluctance, but the man assured him that he could trust his companions, as well as himself; and that it was much better to tell the truth, as it would soon be seen that his features differed altogether from their own and that, therefore, he was some strange person in disguise.

"He is in his senses," he said, "but he does not see things as we do. He is one of those English barbarians who have taken Rangoon, and against whom our armies are marching. He was captured at Ramoo; and sent by Bandoola, as a prisoner, to Ava. He has made his escape and will, in a short time, go down the river; but at present the search is too hot for him. So you see that he is, like ourselves, a fugitive."

"What is his age?" one of the men asked, after a silence, during which they all gazed at the newcomer.

"He is but a lad, being as he tells me between sixteen and seventeen; but you see his skin is stained, and his face marked, so as to give him the appearance of age."

"If the men of his race are as brave as he is, Meinik, our troops will truly have harder work than they think to drive them into the sea. Does he speak our tongue?"

"Yes," Stanley answered for himself. "I have been more than two years in the province of Chittagong, and learned it from one who was in our service."

"And would many of your people risk their lives in the way you did, for a stranger?"

"Certainly. Many men constantly run risks as great to save others."

"One life is all a man has," the Burman said. "Why should he give it for a stranger?"

"I don't think that we stop to think of that," Stanley said. "It seems to us natural that if we see another in danger of his life, we should try to save it; whether it is a man or woman, whether it be from fire or from any other fate."

"You must be a strange people," the Burman said gravely, "and I should scarce have credited it, had I not heard that you had done it, yourself. But it is wonderful; and you, too, a lad who has not yet come to his full strength.

"We should be glad to have such a man for our comrade, my friends. Whether he be Burman or English matters little. He has risked his life for one of us; and he is our brother as long as he likes to stay with us."

There was a warm exclamation of assent, round the circle; and Stanley felt that he had no cause for uneasiness, as long as he remained with them. In the evening the men sang many songs and, at their request, Stanley sang some English ones, choosing some with lively airs. The Burmese were much pleased and surprised at these, and joined merrily in the chorus.

Half a dozen of them then set to work with their knives, cut down some saplings and boughs, and constructed for Stanley an arbour similar to the others; and he lay down well satisfied with the results of his adventure, and feeling that he could remain with these merry fellows, criminals though they might be, until it would be safe to make his way down the river.

In the morning the men started early, leaving him in charge of the fire. They went off in parties of four or five, to watch the various roads leading to the capital; two or three of them, dressed as peasants, going to towns where travellers would halt, so as to gain information as to any party coming down. When they gathered again, at dusk, one party only had had any success. They had met six merchants coming down with horses laden with spices, indigo, and cotton. These had offered no resistance, and they had taken as much as they could carry, and then allowed them to go on with the rest of their goods. There was a general feeling of regret that the party had not been more numerous; and some expressions of anger, at the spies on the road by which the traders had come, for not letting them know beforehand, so that they could have placed their whole force there and carried away all the goods.

"These are the things that suit us best," Meinik said to Stanley. "You see, one can go down with a parcel of cinnamon or pepper, or a bag of dyes, or fifty pounds of cotton into the town; and sell it in the market, at a fair and proper price. Of course, one dresses one's self as a small cultivator; and there is no suspicion, whatever, that all is not right.

"We shall keep a sharp lookout for the men, as they come back again, and relieve them of the silver or goods they may have taken in exchange; that is, if they come by the same road—but it is more likely that, after their adventure today, they will choose some other, or take a guide and travel by village tracks. No doubt they think that they have got off easily, for they have not lost more than a quarter of their goods. It is war time now, and there is no fear of a force being sent against us; but usually we do not take so much as a quarter of the merchandise. Were they to lose everything, they would make complaints; and then we should have a force sent up against us, and be obliged to move away, for a time. But as it is, they are so pleased with getting the greater part of their goods safe to market that they do not care to make a fuss about it; for they might have to pay the court officials, and others, more than the value of the goods lost."

"They do not often resist, then?"

"Not often. If a man loses his goods, he can gather more again; but when his life has gone, everything has gone. Besides, as a rule we take care that we are so strong that they see, at once, that resistance would be hopeless. Sometimes they bring armed guards with them. These are men who make it their business to convoy traders down, when the times are troubled. Sometimes we have fights with these but, as a rule, we seldom attack them unless we are so strong that they do not dare to oppose us. Still, we do have fights sometimes, for these Shan guards are brave fellows. Their convoys are generally rich ones, for it would not pay small traders to hire men to protect them.

"In times of peace, we seldom stop long in one neighbourhood for, when it once becomes known what road we are lying near, they come along in parties too strong to be attacked and, as it matters little to us where we live, we move away perhaps a hundred miles, and then settle on another line of traffic. We have not been here long; we were last down by Tannoo, and did well for a long time there; until at last the governor raised all the villagers, and hunted the woods, and we found that we had to leave. I expect we shall stay here some time, now. There is no fear of troops being sent out, and we can afford not to press too hardly on travellers; for we have done so well, of late, that we could separate and return to our homes, each with a good store of booty. Half our number did leave, when we came up from the south; and more of us would go, if it were not for this order that everyone shall join the army. It is much pleasanter to live here, free to do as we like, than to be driven down like a herd of beasts, to fight. Besides, we have no quarrel with your people. It was the officials at Aracan who began it; let them fight, if they like."

Stanley remained a fortnight with the band. At the end of that time, they heard that a party of thirty traders were coming down together, and that they had with them ten armed guards. This, they no doubt supposed, was ample protection for, as the band generally worked in such small parties, it was believed that there were but a few outlaws in the forest. All the band went out, and returned in the evening, laden with spoil. Two or three of them were wounded, but not severely.

"So you had resistance today, Meinik."

"It lasted only for a minute," the man said. "As soon as they saw how strong we were, the guard were glad enough to put up their swords and let us bind them hand and foot, while we searched the merchants. As you see, we have made a good capture, though we have not seized more than a fifth of what they brought down with them; but it will take them some time to pack their bales again, for we searched everything thoroughly, and made all the merchants strip, and searched their clothes and their hair."

"What did you do that for?"

"Well, it was this way. I said to my comrades, as we went along this morning:

"'The Englishman is going to leave us, in a day or two. I have not forgotten what I owe him, and should like to make him a present. I propose that we search all the party thoroughly, today. From what we heard, some of them come from the ruby country, and are pretty sure to have gems concealed about them, or in their baggage. I propose that all the stones we find we will give to our friend.'

"They all agreed at once for, as you know, they all like you; and rubies, as I told you, are of little use to us, for we cannot dispose of them without great risk. So they did as I proposed, and had good fortune. Twelve out of the number had gems hidden about them, and some of them a good lot. You need not hesitate to take them, for you may be sure that they bought them, for next to nothing, from poor fellows who had risked their lives to hide them.

"There they are. We have not looked at them, but just emptied the parcels into this bag, as we found them. Of course, they are all rough stones. You must take them as a present, from all of us; and as a proof that a Burman, even if he is but a robber, is grateful for such a service as that you rendered him."

Stanley felt that he could not refuse a gift so offered, even though the goods were stolen. As Meinik said, the gems were of little use to the robbers, since they were afraid to try and dispose of them; and their owners had themselves broken the law in having purchased them, and had doubtless given sums bearing no proportion to their real value. Therefore he thanked Meinik very heartily; and also, after they had had their meal, the rest of the band, who made very light of the matter.

The things were useless to them, they said. If it had been silver, or even lead, it would have been different; but to endeavour to sell rubies they had to risk their lives. The goods that they had got that day would fetch them far more money than the rubies, and could be sold without difficulty and, as soon as the war was over and they could go down to their villages, the band would break up. They had enough silver and lead hidden away to keep them for years, even if they never did any work, whatever.

"What do you do with it, when you get back?"

"We hide it. It would never do to enter a village with ten or twelve pounds' weight of silver, and three or four times as much lead, for the headman might take it into his head to have us searched. So we generally dig a hole at the foot of a tree, in some quiet spot; and take, perhaps, a pound of silver and two or three of lead with us. A gift of half that silver is enough to convince the headman that we are honest fellows, who have been working hard since we went away; and from time to time we can go to our store and get what we want from it, and can build a house and marry, and take up a field or two, and perhaps become headmen ourselves, before very long."

"Well, I am sure I wish you all well," Stanley said. "You have all been very kind to me, since I joined you; and I shall be glad to think of you all as settled quietly down in your villages, rather than as remaining here when, some day or other, you might all be captured and harm come to you."

The next morning Stanley started with Meinik, who was a native of a small village on the river, some forty miles below Ava, and who had resolved to accompany him down to Rangoon.

"I shall be able to get a boat and some nets, for a pound or two of lead. If we are hailed, I can do the talking; and can land and buy provisions, if wanted. I have arranged with my comrades to take my share of the silver and lead we have stored up, at once; for it is likely that they will also have gone to their homes before I shall have returned, and we have changed everything into money, except what we took yesterday."

Before starting Stanley was again dyed, and the tattoo marks imitated—far more carefully than before, three or four of the men operating upon him, at once. His face was almost entirely covered with these marks. Some liquid was applied that extracted the colour from his eyebrows, and left them snow white. Some of his hair was similarly treated and, looking at himself in a pool of water, Stanley did not in the slightest degree recognize himself; and felt certain that no one would suspect him of being the young English captive.

Resuming his peasant's cloth, he took a hearty farewell of the band and started with Meinik. The latter carried a bundle, slung on his gun. It contained some clothes, and did not look heavy; but in the centre were two parcels that weighed some forty pounds. Stanley carried a bundle with his other clothes, and several pounds of rice.

Two days' walking took them to Meinik's village. Once out of the forest they travelled at night, and reached the village just as the people were astir. The place consisted of ten or twelve huts, and Meinik created quite an excitement among the few people who inhabited it. These consisted of two or three old men, some women, and children.

"Where have you been for the last year and half, Meinik, if I may ask?"

"Working near Ava," he said; "but as I should have to go to war if I had remained there, I thought that I would come back, and see how you all were. I have saved a little money, and may settle down; but whether here or elsewhere I have not yet made up my mind."

"You will have to go to the war," one of the old men said. "There is scarce a day that one of the war canoes does not stop here, to see if there are any able-bodied men. They have taken eight, and they will assuredly take you."

"Then I shall get a boat," he said, "and take to fishing. The war cannot last long, and I shall do my best to keep out of the way of the war canoes, until it is over. If any of you have a boat to sell, I will buy it."

"I will sell you mine," the old man said. "Both of my sons have been taken to the war, and I am too old to work it myself. It is a good one; my sons made it only last year.

"Whom have you with you?"

Stanley had remained a short distance off, while Meinik was talking to his friends.

"He is an old man I joined along the road," he said. "He is a skilful fisherman; and he has agreed to go with me, if I can get a boat.

"Is there an empty hut?"

"Yes, six of them. Of course, when the men were taken they carried off the wives and children, as usual, as hostages for their conduct."

Meinik nodded. He felt no surprise, as it was the custom in Burma to hold the women and children of all the men going to the war, as guarantees that their husbands would not desert or show cowardice in battle. In either event their relatives would be, at once, put to death.

"My companion is tired," he said. "We walked all night, so we will cook some food and he will sleep."

They at once took possession of one of the empty huts, which was just as it was left by its proprietor. One of the women brought a brand or two from her hearth. An earthen cooking pot was filled with water and placed above it, and a few handfuls of rice dropped in. Two or three snakes, cut up into small pieces, and some pepper pods were added; and then Meinik went out, talked to his acquaintances, and arranged for the purchase of the boat. Stanley watched the fire.

In an hour, Meinik returned.

"The boat is a good one," he said, "and the nets in fair order. I have bought them for two pounds of lead; and have promised that, when the war is over and the man's sons return, it is to be free to them to buy it back, at the same price."

After eating their meal, they both lay down and slept until late in the afternoon. Then Meinik bought an earthenware pot, and a flat slab of the same material for making a fire on; some peppers and capsicums, and a little cinnamon and nutmeg; a basket of mangoes, and some tobacco. As soon as it became dusk, they took their places in the boat, Meinik carrying down two or three faggots of wood.

The boat was a canoe, hewn out of a pine log. It would have carried four people comfortably, and there was plenty of room for them both to lie down at full length. It was very light, the wood having been cut away until it was little thicker than cardboard. This was the almost universal method of construction: even the war canoes, that would carry sixty paddlers—sitting two by two on a bench—and thirty soldiers, being hewn from great single logs of teak. The nets were stowed one, at each end. In the middle was the fireplace, on which the brands of the fire had already been laid. Near it were the faggots and stores.

Meinik and Stanley sat on the nets, each with a paddle. The former had hidden the greater portion of his store of money in the ground, before entering the village. As soon as they had fairly started, Stanley said:

"Had we not better get rid of the fire, Meinik? Its light would draw attention to us."

"That matters little," the Burman replied. "There are not likely to be war canoes about at night, and I expect that most of them will have gone down the river. People fish either by night or by day and, even if a war canoe came along, they would not trouble about it for, of course, many men too old to go to the war remain here, and go on fishing. People cannot starve because there is fighting. The old men and women must cultivate the fields and fish, or both they and the people of the towns would starve.

"Many even of the young men do not go. They keep away from their villages during the day, and work in the fields; and the headmen shut their eyes, for they know that if the fields are not cultivated, the people cannot pay their share of the taxes.

"Still, it is as well to be on the safe side. When the fire has burnt low we will lay a cloth over the top of the boat, so that the glow of the embers will not be seen."

They kept their course near the middle of the river; partly because the current there was stronger, partly because any war canoes that might be coming up would keep close to one bank or the other. They kept on their way until there was a faint gleam of light in the sky; and then paddled into the shore, chose a spot where some bushes drooped down into the water and, forcing the canoe in behind these, so as to be entirely concealed from the sight of any passing boat, cooked some food and, having eaten their breakfast, lay down and slept until evening.

Night after night the journey was continued. Their supply of food was ample to last them; and there was, therefore, no occasion to stop at any village to purchase more. The river, at the point where they started, was about two miles wide; but at some points it was double that width, while at others it contracted to little over a mile. Its level was much lower, now, than it had been when Stanley ascended it, two months before. Sometimes at night they towed one of their nets behind them, and obtained an ample supply of fish for their wants.

Each night they made, as Stanley calculated, about forty miles and, after ten days' travel, they came to the point where the great river divided, one small arm running down to Rangoon; another descending to Bassein, and then falling into the sea at Cape Negrais; while a large proportion of the water found its way down by innumerable branches between the Rangoon and Bassein rivers.

For the last two or three days they had been obliged to observe great caution for, below Prome, there were numbers of boats all going down the river laden with men and stores. These, however, only travelled by day; and the canoe was always, at that time, either floating in the shelter of bushes, or hauled up on the bank at spots where it could be concealed from view by thick growths of rushes.

"We shall never be able to get down to Rangoon by water," said Meinik. "The river will be crowded with rowboats near the town; and there will be no chance, whatever, of making our way through them. At the next village we come to, I will go in and learn the news. Your countrymen may have been driven out by this time and, in that case, there will be nothing to do but to travel north on foot, until we reach Chittagong."

"I have no fear that we shall be driven out, Meinik."

This conversation had occurred on the night when they had passed the point of division of the two arms of the river. They had caught a larger supply of fish than usual and, as soon as the boat was laid up, Meinik started along the bank, with a number of them, for the nearest village. He returned in two hours.

"It is well I landed," he said, "for the point where the greater portion of our people are gathered is Henzawaddy, only some fifteen miles further on.

"You were right; your people have not been driven out. A large number of our troops are down near Rangoon but, in the fighting that has taken place, we have gained no advantage. Your people marched out at the end of May, carried a stockade; and advanced to Joazoang, and attacked some villages defended by stockades and carried them, after having killed a hundred of our men. Then a great stockade on a hill near the river, three miles from Rangoon—which our people thought could not be taken, so strongly was it protected—was attacked. The guns of your people made a great gap in a stockade a mile in front of it. Two hundred men were killed, and also the commander.

"Then your people marched on to the great stockade at Kemmendine. Your troops, when they got there, saw how strong it was and were afraid to attack it. They lay down all night, close to it; and we thought we should destroy them, all when they attacked in the morning; but their ships that had come up with them opened fire, at daybreak. As the stockades were hidden from the sight of those on the river, we had thought that the ships could do nothing; but they shot great balls up into the air, and they came down inside the stockade, where they burst with an explosion like the noise of a big gun; and killed so many that the troops could not remain under so terrible a fire, and went away, leaving it to your people to enter the stockade, without fighting."

Chapter 6: Among Friends.

"It certainly seems to me," Stanley said, when he heard the Burman's account of the state of things below, "that it will not be possible for us to go any further, by water."

"It would be very dangerous," Meinik said. "It is certain that all the men in this part of the country have been obliged to go with the army and, even were we both natives, and had no special reason for avoiding being questioned, we should be liable to be seized and executed at once, for having disregarded the orders to join the army. Assuredly we cannot pass down farther in our boat, but must take to the land. I should say that we had best get spears and shields, and join some newly-arrived party."

"But you forget that, though my disguise as a native is good enough to mislead anyone passing us on the road, or in the dusk after sunset, I should certainly attract attention if travelling with them, by day."

"I forgot that. I have grown so accustomed to seeing you that I forget that, to other people, your face would seem strange; as it at first did to me, in the forest. Indeed you look to me now like one of ourselves; but were we to join a band, someone would be sure to ask questions concerning you, ere long. What, then, do you think we had best do?"

"From what I heard of the country from one of your comrades, who is a native of this province, it would be impossible for us, after crossing the river, to make our way down on the opposite side, since the whole country is swampy and cut up by branches of the Irrawaddy. On this side there are few obstacles of that kind but, on the other hand, we shall find the country full of troops going down towards Rangoon. Your comrade told me that the hills that we saw to the east, from the forest at Ava, extended right down into Tenasserim; and were very high, and could not be traversed, for that no food could be obtained, and that tigers and wild animals and other beasts abounded. But he said that the smaller hills that we crossed on the way to your village—which he called the Pegu Yoma hills—some of whose swells come down to the bank, extend all the way down to the sea between the Irrawaddy and the Sittang rivers; and that, from them, streams flowed to one river or the other. Therefore, if we could gain that range, we should avoid the swamp country, altogether.

"A few miles back we passed a river coming in from the east and, if we follow that up as far as there is water, we shall be among the hills. He said that there were no mountains at all, there; but just rounded hills, with many villages and much cultivated ground, so there ought to be no difficulty in making our way along. We shall be able to gather food in the fields; or can go into villages and purchase some, for the men will all be away. Besides, we can get spears and shields, and can say that having been away from home on a journey—when the men were all ordered to war, we returned too late to go with the rest of the villagers, and are making our way down to join them. Many others must be doing the same, and the story will be likely enough.

"In that way we can get down till we are close to the troops round Rangoon, and must then take our chance of getting through them."

"That seems better than the other way," Meinik said. "There is such a river as you speak of, above Sarawa. We can paddle back tonight, and hide near the town; then I can go there in the morning, and buy a couple of spears and shields, and get some more rice and other things. We have plenty of ammunition for our guns; which we may want, if we meet any wild beasts."

"You don't think that there will be any danger in your going in there, Meinik? Of course, there is no absolute occasion for us to have spears and shields, as we have guns."

"We ought to have shields," Meinik replied, "and it were better to have spears too, and also for us to carry axes—everyone carries an axe in war time, for we always erect stockades and, though a very poor man may only have his knife, everyone who can afford it takes an axe. Most people have such a thing, for it is wanted for cutting firewood, for clearing the ground, for building houses, and for many other things; and a Burman must be poor, indeed, who does not own one."

"By all means, then, get them for us, Meinik; besides, we may find them useful for ourselves."

They now lay down and slept until evening; and then started up the river again, keeping close in under shadow of the bank and, two hours before daylight, concealed the canoe as usual, at a spot two miles above Sarawa. Meinik started at daybreak, and returned three hours later with two axes, spears, and shields.

That night they turned into the river running to the east and, for four nights, paddled up it. The country was now assuming a different character, and the stream was running in a valley with rising ground—from a hundred to a hundred and fifty feet high—on each side, and was narrowing very fast. Towards morning on the fifth day the river had become a small stream, of but two or three feet deep; and they decided to leave the boat, as it was evident that they would be able to go but a short distance further.

"We may as well hide her carefully," Stanley said. "It is certainly not likely that we shall want her again, but there is never any saying and, at any rate, there is no great trouble in doing it."

They cooked a meal and then started at once, so as to do a few hours' walking before the sun became high. They determined to keep on eastward, until they reached the highest point of the dividing ridge between the two main rivers, and then to follow it southward. The country was now well cultivated, and they had some trouble in avoiding the small villages dotted thickly about, as the course they were following was not the one they would take if making straight to join the army. They slept for three or four hours in the heat of the day; and then, pushing on, found themselves before sunset on what seemed to them the highest point of the divide. To the right they could see the flat country stretching towards the Irrawaddy, to the left the ground was more sharply undulating. Two miles away was a stream of fair size, which they judged to be the river that runs down to Pegu, and afterwards joins the Rangoon river below the town.

Stanley thought that the hill on which they stood was some five hundred feet above the low country they had left. A great part of the hills was covered with trees although, at the point where they had made their way up, the hillside was bare. They went on until they entered the forest, and there set to work to chop firewood. Meinik carried a tinderbox, and soon had a fire blazing, and by its side they piled a great stock of wood.

"I do not know that there are any leopards so far south as this," he said, "but at any rate it will be safer to keep a big fire blazing. I never used to think much about leopards but, ever since I had that great beast's foot upon my back, I have had a horror of them."

The next morning they continued their journey south, going along boldly and passing through several villages.

"You are late for the war," an old man said, as they went through one of them.

"I know we are," Meinik replied, "but we were away with a caravan of traders when the order came; and so, instead of going down the river, we have had to journey on foot. But we shall be there in time. From what we have heard, there has not been much fighting, yet."

"No; the white barbarians are all shut up in Rangoon. We have not attacked them in earnest, but we shall soon do so and, moreover, they will soon be all starved, for the country has been swept clear of all cattle for twenty miles round, the villages deserted, and everything laid waste; and we hear that half their number are laid up with sickness, and that a great number have died. I wish that I were younger, that I, too, could help to destroy the insolent foes who have dared to set foot on our sacred soil."

There was no need for haste, now, and they travelled by easy stages until, by the smoke rising from different parts of the forest, they knew that they were approaching the spot where the Burmese forces lay around Rangoon and, indeed, could see the great pagoda rising above the surrounding country. They had heard, at the last villages through which they had passed, that there had been an attack made upon the pagoda on the 1st of July. On that day the Burmese, in great force, had moved down in a line parallel to the road between the pagoda and the town, along which a considerable number of our troops were encamped. They had advanced until within half a mile of Rangoon, then had changed front and attacked the British position near the town. They occupied a hill near our line, and opened fire from there with jingals and small cannon; but two British guns firing grape soon silenced their guns, and a Madras regiment charged the hill and recaptured it.

This entirely upset the plan of the Wongee in command of the Burmese. The signal for the whole of the army to attack was to have been given, as soon as their left had broken through the British line, and had thus cut off all the troops on the road leading to the pagoda from the town. Seeing that this movement had failed, the general did not give the signal for the general attack, but ordered the troops to fall back. He had been recalled in disgrace to Ava; and a senior officer, who arrived just after the battle, assumed the command. He at once set to work to make a very strong stockade at Kummeroot, five miles from the great pagoda; and also fortified a point on the river above Kemmendine—the stockade that had been captured by the British—and intended from this point to send down fire rafts to destroy the British shipping and, at the same time, made continuous attacks at night on the British lines.

The rains at this time were falling incessantly, and the Burmese did not think that the British would be able to move out against them. The position on the river was connected with that at Kummeroot by strong stockades; and the Burmese general was convinced that, if an attack was made, it could be easily defeated. However, eight days after the repulse of the Burmese first attack, the vessels came up the river, while a land column moved against Kummeroot.

The position was a strong one. The river was here divided into two branches and, on the point of land between these, the principal stockade was erected and was well provided with artillery; while on the opposite banks of both rivers other stockades with guns were erected, so that any attack by water would be met by the direct fire from the great stockade, and a cross fire from those on the banks.

Four ships came up, and the Burmese guns opened upon them, but the heavy fire from the men-of-war was not long in silencing them; and then a number of boats full of troops had landed, and stormed the stockade, and driven out the Burmese. The land column had been unable to take guns with them, owing to the impossibility of dragging them along the rain-sodden paths; and the Burmese chiefs, confident in the strength of their principal post—which was defended by three lines of strong stockades, one above another—and in their immensely superior force, treated with absolute contempt the advance of the little British column—of which they were informed, as soon as it started, by their scouts thickly scattered through the woods.

The general, Soomba Wongee, was just sitting down to dinner when he was told that the column had nearly reached the first stockade. He directed his chiefs to proceed to their posts and "drive the audacious strangers away," and continued his meal until the heavy and rapid musketry of the assailants convinced him that the matter was more serious than he had expected. As a rule, the Burmese generals do not take any active part in their battles; but Soomba Wongee left his tent and at once went towards the point attacked. He found his troops already retreating, and that the two outer stockades had been carried by the enemy. He rallied his men, and himself led the way to the attack; but the steady and continuous fire of the British rendered it impossible for him to restore order, and the Burmese remained crowded together, in hopeless confusion. However, he managed to gather together a body of officers and troops and, with them, charged desperately upon the British soldiers. He, with several other leaders of rank, was killed; and the Burmese were scattered through the jungle, leaving eight hundred dead behind them.

The fact that ten stockades, provided with thirty pieces of artillery, should have been captured in one day by the British, had created a deep impression among the villagers of the neighbourhood—from whom the truth could not be concealed—and indeed, all the villages, for many miles round the scene of action, were crowded with wounded. They told Meinik that the army was, for a time, profoundly depressed. Many had deserted, and the fact that stockades they had thought impregnable were of no avail, whatever, against the enemy, whose regular and combined action was irresistible, as against their own isolated and individual method of fighting, had shaken their hitherto profound belief in their own superiority to any people with whom they might come in contact.

Since that time no serious fighting had taken place. Occasional night attacks had been made, and all efforts on the part of the invaders to obtain food, by foraging parties, had proved unsuccessful. The boats of the fleet had gone up the Puzendown river, that joined the Rangoon river some distance below the town, and had captured a large number of boats that had been lying there, waiting until Rangoon was taken before going up the river with their cargoes of rice and salt fish; but they had gained no other advantage for, although the villages were crowded with fugitives from the town, these were driven into the jungle by the troops stationed there for the purpose, as soon as the boats were seen coming up the river.

In some cases, however, the boats had arrived so suddenly that there had not been time to do this; and the fugitives had been taken to Rangoon, where it was said they had been very well treated.

Great reinforcements had now come down from the upper provinces. Two of the king's brothers had arrived, to take command of the army; one had established himself at Donabew, the other at Pegu. They had brought with them numbers of astrologers, to fix upon a propitious time for an attack; and the king's Invulnerables, several thousands strong—a special corps, whom neither shot nor steel could injure—were with them.

About the 6th of August a strong position that had been taken up, by a force sent by the prince at Pegu, in the old Portuguese fort of Syriam had been attacked; with orders that the channel of the Rangoon river should be blocked, so that none of the strangers should escape the fate that awaited them. The position was a very strong one. The trees and brushwood round the fort had been cleared away; wherever there were gaps in the old wall stockades had been erected; and great beams suspended from the parapet in order that, if an attack was made, the ropes could be cut and the beams fall upon the heads of the assailants.

The British had, however, thrown a bridge across a deep creek, pushed on against the place, and carried it in a few minutes; the garrison flying, as soon as the assailants gained the ramparts, to a pagoda standing on a very steep hill, defended by guns, and assailable only by a very steep flight of steps. The troops, however, pressed up these fearlessly; and the garrison, discouraged and shaken by the reports of the fugitives from the lower fort, had fled as soon as the British arrived at the top of the steps.

Notwithstanding this and other, as successful, attacks upon their stockades, the Burmese troops now felt confident that, with their numerous forces, they would be victorious whenever the astrologers decided that the favourable moment had arrived.

Meinik had ascertained, from the villagers, the name of the leader and the locality to which the corps belonged that was posted nearest to Rangoon. As soon as it was dark, he and Stanley entered the forest. The smoke had served as a guide, to them, as to the position of the different corps; and they were able to make their way between these without being questioned. Presently, however, they came upon a strong picket.

"Where are you going?" the officer in command asked.

"To join the corps of the Woondock Snodee," Meinik replied. "We were away at Bhanno when the order came, and the rest had gone down the river before we got to Mew; so we came on by ourselves, not wishing to fail in our duty."

"You are just in time," the officer said. "The Woondock is a quarter of a mile away, on the left."

They moved off in that direction; but soon left the track and, avoiding the camp, kept away until they reached the edge of the forest. Then they crept forward through the jungle and brushwood, pausing to listen from time to time and, three times, changing their course to avoid parties of the Burmese acting as outposts.

On issuing from the jungle they crawled forward for three or four hundred yards, so as to be beyond musket shot of the outposts; and then remained quiet until morning broke. Then they could perceive red coats moving about, in a small village before which a breastwork had been thrown up, some four hundred yards away from them and, getting up to their feet, ran towards it. Several shots were fired at them, from the jungle behind; and some soldiers at once appeared at the breastwork. Supposing that the two figures approaching were Burmese deserters, they did not fire; and Stanley and his companion were soon among them.

They were soldiers of one of the Bengal regiments; and Stanley, to their surprise, addressed them in their own language.

"I am an Englishman," he said. "I am one of the prisoners whom they took, at Ramoo, and have escaped from their hands. Are there any of your officers in the village?"

"I will take you to them," a native sub-officer said; and Stanley, in a minute or two, entered a cottage in which four English officers were just taking their early breakfast, preparatory to turning out on duty.

"Whom have you got here, jemadar?" one of them asked, in Bengalee.

Stanley answered for himself.

"I am an Englishman, sir, and have just escaped from Ava."

The officer uttered an exclamation of surprise.

"Well, sir," the senior of them said, as he held out his hand to Stanley, "I congratulate you on having got away, whoever you are; but I am bound to say that, if it were not for your speech, I should not have believed you; for I have never seen anyone look less like an Englishman than you do."

"My name is Stanley Brooke, sir. I am the son of the late Captain Brooke, of the 15th Native Regiment."

"Then I should know you," one of the other officers said, "for I knew your father; and I remember seeing your name in the list of officers killed, at Ramoo, and wondered if it could be the lad I knew five or six years ago."

"I recollect you, Captain Cooke," Stanley said. "Your regiment was at Agra, when we were there."

"Right you are; and I am heartily glad that the news of your death was false," and he shook hands cordially with Stanley.

"And who is your companion?" the major asked. "Is he an Englishman, also?"

"No, sir; he is a native. He is a most faithful fellow. He has acted as my guide, all the way down from the point we started from, twenty miles from Ava. I could never have accomplished it without his aid for, although I speak Burmese well enough to pass anywhere, my face is so different in shape from theirs that, if I were looked at closely in the daylight, I should be suspected at once. I could never have got here without his aid."

"How was it that he came to help you, sir?" Major Pemberton asked. "As far as we can see, the Burmese hate us like poison. Even when they are wounded to death, they will take a last shot at any soldiers marching past them."

"I happened to save his life from a leopard," Stanley said, "and, truly, he has shown his gratitude."

"Jemadar," the major said, "take that man away with you. See that he is well treated. Give him some food, of course. He will presently go with this officer to the general."

Stanley said a few works in Burmese to Meinik, telling him that he was to have food, and would afterwards go with him to the general; and he then, at the invitation of the officers, sat down with them to breakfast. While eating it, Stanley told them something of his adventures. After the meal was over, the major said:

"You had better go with Mr. Brooke to the general, Captain Cooke. I cannot well leave the regiment.

"We can let you have an outfit, Mr. Brooke; though we are, most of us, reduced pretty well to our last garments. What with the jungle and what with the damp, we have nearly all arrived at the last state of dilapidation; but I am sure the general would like to see you in your present disguise."

"It makes no difference to me, sir," Stanley said, with a laugh. "I am so accustomed to this black petticoat, now, that I should almost feel strange in anything else. I am afraid this dye will be a long time before it wears itself out. It is nearly three weeks since I was dyed last, and it has faded very little, yet."

"You need not take your arms, anyhow," Captain Cooke said. "You will attract less attention going without them, for it will only be supposed that you are one of the natives who have been brought in by the boats."

Meinik was sitting on the ground, contentedly, outside the cottage, the jemadar standing beside him.

"Have you had any food, Meinik?" Stanley asked.

The man nodded.

"Good food," he said.

"That is all right. Now, come along with us. You can leave your weapons here—they won't be wanted."

Meinik rose and followed Stanley and Captain Cooke. There were houses scattered all along the roadside. These were now all occupied by officers and troops, and there were so many of them that it had not been necessary to place any of the men under canvas—an important consideration, during the almost continuous rain of the last three months.

"Why, Cooke, I did not know that you talked Burmese," an officer standing at one of the doors remarked, as the officer came along, chatting with Stanley.

"You don't know all my accomplishments, Phillipson," the captain laughed, for the idea that there existed such a thing as a Burmese peasant who could talk English had not occurred to the other. "I am taking him to the chief, to show off my powers;" and passed on, leaving the officer looking after him, with a puzzled expression on his face.

On their arrival at Sir Archibald Campbell's headquarters, Captain Cooke sent in his name and, as the general was not at the moment engaged, he was at once shown in; followed by Stanley, Meinik remaining without.

"Good morning, sir. I see you have brought in a deserter," the general said.

"He is not a deserter, sir. He is an escaped prisoner, who has made his way down from Ava through the enemy's lines.

"This is Mr. Brooke. He was serving as an officer with the native levy, at Ramoo, and was reported as killed. However, he was fortunately only stunned and, being the only officer found alive, was sent by Bandoola as a prisoner to Ava. I may say that he is a son of the late Captain Brooke, of the 15th Native Infantry."

"You are certainly wonderfully disguised," the general said; "and I congratulate you heartily on your escape. I should have passed you by as a native without a second glance though, now that I am told that you are an Englishman, I can see that you have not the wide cheekbones and flat face of a Burman. How did you manage to make your way down?"

"I travelled almost entirely by night, sir; and I had with me a faithful guide. He is outside. I don't think that I should ever have got down without him, though I speak Burmese well enough to pass—especially as the language differs so much, in the different districts."

"Is he a Burman?"

"Yes, general."

"Have you arranged with him for any particular sum for his services? If so, it will of course be paid."

"No, sir; he came down simply in gratitude for a service I rendered him. I do not know whether he intends to go back; but I hope that he will remain here, with me."

"I have brought Mr. Brooke here, sir," Captain Cooke said, "at the request of the major; thinking that you might like to ask him some questions as to the state of things in the interior."

"I should like to have a long talk with Mr. Brooke," the general said; "but unless he has any certain news of the date they intend to attack us, I will not detain him now. The first thing will be for him to get into civilized clothes again.

"By the way, poor young Hitchcock's effects are to be sold this morning. I should think that they would fit Mr. Brooke very well.

"Let me see. Of course, your pay has been running on, since you were taken prisoner, Mr. Brooke."

"I am afraid, sir, that there is no pay due," Stanley said. "I happened to be at Ramoo at the time, looking after some goods of my uncle, who carries on a considerable trade on the coast; and as I talk the language, and there were very few who did so, I volunteered to act as an officer with the native levy. I preferred to act as a volunteer, in order that I might be free to leave, at any time, if I received an order from my uncle to join him at Chittagong.

"I could give an order on him, but I do not know where he is to be found. I have with me some uncut rubies; though I have no idea what they are worth, for I have not even looked at them yet; but they should certainly be good security for 50 pounds."

"We can settle that presently, Mr. Brooke. I will write an order on the paymaster for 500 rupees; and we can talk the matter over, afterwards. I am afraid that you will have to pay rather high for the clothes, for almost everyone here has worn out his kit; and Mr. Hitchcock only joined us a fortnight before his death, so that his are in very good condition. Of course, they are all uniform—he was on my staff—but that will not matter. You could hardly be going about in civilian clothes, here.

"I shall be very glad if you will dine with me, at six o'clock this evening. Have a talk with your man before that, and see what he wants to do. If he is a sharp fellow, he might be very useful to us."

The general wrote the order on the paymaster, and Captain Cooke took Stanley across to the office and obtained the cash for it. Making inquiry, he found that the sale was to come off in a quarter of an hour.

"I will do the bidding for you, if you like, Brooke," Captain Cooke said. "I dare say you would rather not be introduced, generally, in your present rig."

"Much rather not, and I shall be much obliged by your doing it."

"All right. I will make your money go as far as I can. Of course, the poor fellow brought no full-dress uniform with him, or anything of that sort."

"You will find me here with my Burman," Stanley said. "We will stroll round the place for half an hour, and then come back here again."

There was very little to see in the town. Meinik was astonished, when they mounted the river bank and had a view of the ships lying at anchor. For a time he was too surprised to speak, never having seen anything larger than the clumsy cargo boats which made a voyage, once a year, up the river.

"It is wonderful!" he said at last. "Who would have thought of such great ships? If the emperor could but see them, I think that he would make peace. It is easy to see that you know many things more than we do. Could one go on board of them?"

"Not as I am, at present, Meinik; but when I get English clothes on again, and rid myself from some of this stain, I have no doubt I shall be able to take you on board one of the ships-of-war.

"And now, will you let me know what you are thinking of doing? I told the general what service you had rendered me, and he asked me what you were going to do. I told him that, as yet, I did not know whether you were going to stay here, or go back again."

"Are you going to stay here?"

"I think so—at any rate, for a time. I do not know where the uncle I have told you about is, at present. At any rate, while this war is going on he can do very little trade, and can manage very well without me."

"As long as you stay here, I shall stay," the Burman said. "If I went back, I should have to fight against your people; and I don't want to do that. I have no quarrel with them and, from what I see, I am not so sure as I was that we shall drive you into the sea. You have beaten us, whenever you have fought; and I would rather stay with you, than be obliged to fight against you.

"Not many men want to fight. We heard that in the villages, and that those who have not got wives and children held, as hostages for them, get away from the army and hide in the woods.

"You will be a great man now and, if you will let me stop, I will be your servant."

"I will gladly keep you with me, Meinik, if you are willing to stay; and I am sure that you will be better off, here, than out in the woods, and a good deal safer. At any rate, stay until after your people make their next attack. You will see then how useless it is for them to fight against us. When we can attack them in their stockades, although they are ten to one against us, and drive them out after a quarter of an hour's fighting; you may be sure that in the open ground, without defences, they will have no chance whatever.

"I hope they will soon get tired of fighting, and that the court will make peace. We did not want to fight with them—it was they who attacked us but, now that we have had all the expense of coming here, we shall go on fighting till the emperor agrees to make peace; but I don't think that we shall ever go out of Rangoon, again, and believe that we shall also hold the ports in Tenasserim that we have captured."

"The emperor will never agree to that," Meinik said, shaking his head positively.

"Then if he does not, he will see that we shall go up the river to Ava and, in the end, if he goes on fighting we shall capture the whole country; and rule over it, just as we have done the greater part of India."

"I think that would be good for us," the man said philosophically. "It would not matter much to us to whom we paid our taxes—and you would not tax us more heavily than we are now—for as we came down you saw many villages deserted, and the land uncultivated, because the people could not pay the heavy exactions. It is not the king—he does not get much of it—but he gives a province, or a district, or a dozen villages to someone at court; and says, 'you must pay me so much, and all that you can get out of it, besides, is for yourself;' so they heap on the taxes, and the people are always in great poverty and, when they find that they cannot pay what is demanded and live, then they all go away to some other place, where the lord is not so harsh."

"I am sure that it would be a good thing for them, Meinik. The people of India are a great deal better off, under us, than they were under their native rulers. There is a fixed tax, and no one is allowed to charge more, or to oppress the people in any way.

"But now we must be going. I said that I would be back at the place we started from, in half an hour."

Chapter 7: On The Staff.

Captain Cooke had done his best, previous to the beginning of the auction, to disarm opposition; by going about among the officers who dropped in, with the intention of bidding, telling them something of Stanley's capture, adventures, and escape; and saying that the general had, himself, advised him to obtain an outfit by buying a considerable portion of the young officer's kit.

"I have no doubt that he will put him on his staff," he said. "From his knowledge of the country, and the fact that he speaks the language well, he would be very useful and, as he has gone through all this from serving as a volunteer, without pay, I hope you fellows won't run up the prices, except for things that you really want."

His story had the desired effect; and when Captain Cooke met Stanley, he was able to tell him that he had bought for him the greater portion of the kit, including everything that was absolutely necessary.

"Are there any plain clothes?" Stanley asked, after thanking him warmly for the trouble he had taken.

"No. Of course, he left everything of that sort at Calcutta. No one in his senses would think of bringing mufti out with him, especially to such a country as this."

"Then I shall have to go in uniform to the general's," Stanley said, in a tone of consternation. "It seems to me that it would be an awfully impudent thing, to go in staff uniform to dine with the general, when I have no right whatever to wear it."

"Well, as the general advised you himself to buy the things, he cannot blame you for wearing them; and I have not the least doubt that he is going to offer you a staff appointment of some sort."

"I should like it very much, as long as the war lasted, Captain Cooke; but I don't think that I should care about staying in the army, permanently. You see, my uncle is working up a very good business. He has been at it, now, seven or eight years; and he was saying the last time that I was with him that, as soon as these troubles were over, and trade began again, he should give me a fourth share of it; and make it a third share, when I got to twenty-one."

"Then you would be a great fool to give it up," Captain Cooke said, heartily. "A man who has got a good business, out here, would have an income as much as all the officers of a regiment, together. He is his own master, and can retire when he likes, and enjoy his money in England.

"Still, as trade is at a standstill at present, I think that it would be wise of you to accept any offer that the general might make to you. It might even be to your advantage, afterwards. To have served on Campbell's staff will be an introduction to every officers' mess in the country; and you may be sure that, not only shall we hold Rangoon in future, but there will be a good many more British stations between Assam and here than there now are; and it would be a pull for you, even in the way of trade, to stand on a good footing everywhere."

"I quite see that," Stanley agreed, "and if the general is good enough to offer me an appointment, I shall certainly take it."

"You have almost a right to one, Brooke. In the Peninsula lots of men got their commissions by serving for a time as volunteers; and having been wounded at Ramoo, and being one of the few survivors of that fight; and having gone through a captivity, at no small risk of being put to death the first time that the king was out of temper, your claim is a very strong one, indeed. Besides, there is hardly a man here who speaks Burmese, and your services will be very valuable.

"Here are fifty rupees," he went on, handing the money to Stanley. "It is not much change out of five hundred; but I can assure you that you have got the things at a bargain, for you would have had to pay more than that for them, in England; and I fancy most of the things are in very good condition, for Hitchcock only came out about four months ago. Of course the clothes are nothing like new but, at any rate, they are in a very much better state than those of anyone who came here three months ago.

"I have ordered them all to be sent to my quarters where, of course, you will take up your abode till something is settled about you; which will probably be this evening. In that case, you will have quarters allotted to you, tomorrow."

"Thank you very much. I shall devote the best portion of this afternoon to trying to get rid of as much of this stain as I can, at least off my face and hands. The rest does not matter, one way or the other, and will wear off gradually; but I should like to get my face decent."

"Well, you are rather an object, Stanley," he said. "It would not matter so much about the colour, but all those tattoo marks are, to say the least of it, singular. Of course they don't look so rum, now, in that native undress; but when you get your uniform on, the effect will be startling.

"We will have a chat with the doctor. He may have something in his medicine chest that will at least soften them down a bit. Of course, if they were real tattoo marks there would be nothing for it; but as they are only dye, or paint of some sort, they must wear themselves out before very long."

"I will try anything that he will give me. I don't care if it takes the skin off."

On returning to the quarters of Captain Cooke, Stanley was introduced to the other officers of the regiment; among them the doctor, to whom he at once applied for some means of taking off the dye.

"Have you asked the man you brought down with you?" the surgeon said. "You say that he put it on, and he may know of something that will take it off again."

"No; I have asked him, and he knows of nothing. He used some of the dye stuffs of the country, but he said he never heard of anyone wanting to take the dye out of things that had been coloured."

"If it were only cotton or cloth," the doctor said, "I have no doubt a very strong solution of soda would take out the greater portion of the dye; but the human skin won't stand boiling water. However, I should say that if you have water as hot as you can bear it, with plenty of soda and soap, it will do something for you. No doubt, if you were to take a handful or two of very fine sand, it would help a great deal; but if you use that, I should not put any soda with the water, or you will practically take all the skin off, and leave your face like a raw beef steak; which will be worse than the stain and, indeed, in so hot a sun as we have, might be dangerous, and bring on erysipelas. So you must be very careful; and it will be far better for you to put up with being somewhat singular in your appearance, for a bit, than to lay yourself up by taking any strong measures to get rid of it."

After an hour spent in vigorous washing, and aided by several rubs with very fine sand, Stanley succeeded, to his great satisfaction, in almost getting rid of the tattoo marks on his face. The general dye had faded a little, though not much; but that with which the marks had been made was evidently of a less stable character, and yielded to soap and friction.

Before he had concluded the work two trunks arrived and, finding that his face was now beginning to smart a good deal, he abstained for the time from further efforts; and turned to inspect his purchases, with a good deal of interest. The uniforms consisted of two undress suits; one with trousers, the other with breeches and high boots, for riding. There was also a suit of mess jacket, waistcoat, and trousers; three suits of white drill; half a dozen white shirts for mess, and as many of thin flannel; and a good stock of general underclothes, a pair of thick boots, and a light pair for mess. There was also the sword, belt, and other equipments; in fact, all the necessaries he would require for a campaign.

Before beginning to dress, he began to free his hair from the wax with which it had been plastered up. He had obtained from the doctor some spirits of turpentine and, with the aid of this, he found the task a less difficult one than he had expected and, the regimental barber being sent for by Captain Cooke, his hair was soon shortened to the ordinary length.

"You will do very well, now," the major said, as he went down into the general room. "You have certainly succeeded a great deal better than I thought you would. Of course you look very brown, but there are a good many others nearly as dark as you are; for between the rain showers the sun has tremendous power, and some of the men's faces are almost skinned, while others have browned wonderfully. I am sure that many of them are quite as dark as yours. So you will pass muster very well."

Before beginning to wash and change, Stanley had given Meinik the clothes he had carried down with him; and when he went out to take a short look round before tiffin—for which the servants were already laying the cloth—he found the man, now looking like a respectable Burman, standing near the door. He walked slowly past him, but the man did not move—not recognizing him, in the slightest degree, in his present attire.

Then Stanley turned and faced him.

"So you don't know me, Meinik."

The Burman gave a start of surprise.

"Certainly I did not know you, my lord," he said. "Who could have known you? Before you were a poor Burmese peasant, now you are an English lord."

"Not a lord at all, Meinik. I am simply an English officer, and dressed very much the same as I was when your people knocked me on the head, at Ramoo."

"I know your voice," Meinik said; "but even now that I know it is you, I hardly recognize your face. Of course, the tattoo marks made a great difference, but that is not all."

"I think it is the hair that has made most difference, Meinik. You see, it was all pulled off the brow and neck, before; and it will be some time before it will grow naturally again. I had great trouble to get it to lie down, even when it was wet; and it will certainly have a tendency to stick up, for a long time.

"The dress has made a good deal of alteration in you, too."

"They are very good clothes," Meinik said. "I have never had such good ones on before. I have had money enough to buy them; but people would have asked where I got it from, and it never does to make a show of being better off than one's neighbour. A man is sure to be fleeced, if he does.

"What can I do for my lord?"

"Nothing, at present, Meinik. I am going to lunch with the officers here, and to dine with the general, and sleep here. Tomorrow I daresay I shall move into quarters of my own.

"You had better buy what you want, for today, in the market. I don't know whether it is well supplied but, as we saw some of your people about, there must be food to be obtained."

"They gave me plenty to eat when I came in," he said, "but I will buy something for supper.

"No, I do not want money, I have plenty of lead left."

"You had better take a couple of rupees, anyhow. There are sure to be some traders from India who have opened shops here, and they won't care to take lead in payment. You must get some fresh muslin for your turban; and you had better close it up at the top, this time. It will go better with your clothes."

Meinik grinned.

"I shall look quite like a person of importance. I shall be taken for, at least, the headman of a large village."

He took the two rupees and walked off towards the town, while Stanley went in to luncheon. There were a good many remarks as to his altered appearance.

"Do you know, Brooke," one of the young lieutenants said, "I did not feel at all sure that Cooke was not humbugging us, when he introduced you to us, and that you were not really a Burman who had travelled, and had somehow learned to speak English extraordinarily well."

"Clothes and soap and water make a wonderful difference," Stanley laughed, "but I shall be a good many shades lighter, when the rest of the dye wears off. At any rate, I can go about, now, without anyone staring at me."

After tiffin, Stanley had to tell his story again, at a very much greater length than before.

"You certainly have gone through some queer adventures," the major said, when he had finished his relation; "and there is no doubt that you have had wonderful luck. In the first place, if that bullet had gone half an inch lower, you would not have been one of the four white survivors of that ugly business at Ramoo; then you were lucky that they did not chop off your head, either when they first took you, or when they got you to Ava. Then again, it was lucky that Bandoola sent a special message that he wanted you kept as an interpreter for himself, and that the official in charge of you turned out a decent fellow, and aided you to make your escape.

"As to your obtaining the services of the man you brought down with you, I do not regard that as a question of luck. You saved the man's life, by an act of the greatest bravery—one that not one man in ten would perform, or try to perform, for the life of a total stranger. I hope that I should have made the effort, had I been in your place; but I say frankly that I am by no means sure that I should have done so.

"The betting was a good twenty to one against its being done successfully. If the brute had heard your footstep, it would have been certain death and, even when you reached him, the chances were strongly against your being able to strike a blow at the animal that would, for a moment, disable him; and so give you time to snatch up one of the guns—which might not, after all, have been loaded.

"It was a wonderfully gallant action, lad. You did not tell us very much about it yourself but, while you were getting the dye off, I got hold of one of the traders here, who happened to be passing, and who understood their language; and with his assistance I questioned your fellow, and got all the particulars from him. I say again, it was as plucky a thing as I have ever heard of."

A few minutes later an orderly came in with a note from the general, asking the major and Captain Cooke also to dine with him that evening. Stanley was very pleased that the two officers were going with him, as it took away the feeling of shyness he felt, at the thought of presenting himself in staff uniform at the general's.

Sir Archibald Campbell put him at ease, at once, by the kindness with which he received him. Stanley began to apologize for his dress, but the general stopped him, at once.

"I intended, of course, that you should wear it, Mr. Brooke. I am sure that you would not find a dress suit in the camp. However, we will make matters all right, tomorrow. Judging from what you said that, as you cannot join your uncle at present, you would be willing to remain here, your name will appear in orders, tomorrow morning, as being granted a commission in the 89th, pending the arrival of confirmation from home; which of course, in such a case, is a mere form. You will also appear in the orders as being appointed my aide-de-camp, in place of Mr. Hitchcock, with extra pay as interpreter.

"No, do not thank me. Having served as a volunteer, taken part in a severe action, and having been wounded and imprisoned, you had almost a right to a commission. After dinner, I hope that you will give us all a full account of your adventures; it was but a very slight sketch that I heard from you, this morning."

The general then introduced Stanley to the other members of his staff.

"If you had seen him as I saw him, this morning," he said, with a smile, "you certainly would not recognize him now. He was naked to the waist, and had nothing on but the usual peasant attire of a piece of black cloth, reaching to his knees. I knew, of course, that the question of costume would soon be got over; but I own that I did not think that I should be able to employ him, for some little time. Not only was his stain a great deal darker than it is now, but he was thickly tattooed up to the eyes, and one could hardly be sending messages by an aide-de-camp so singular in appearance; but I see that, somehow, he has entirely got rid of the tattoo marks; and his skin is now very little, if at all, darker than that of many of us, so that I shall be able to put him in harness at once."

After dinner was over and cigars lighted, Stanley told his story as before, passing over lightly the manner in which he had gained the friendship of the Burman. When he had finished, however, Major Pemberton said:

"With your permission, general, I will supplement the story a little. Mr. Brooke has told me somewhat more than he has told you, but I gained the whole facts from his guide's own lips."

"No, major, please," Stanley said colouring, even under his dye. "The matter is not worth telling."

"You must permit us to be a judge of that, Mr. Brooke," the general said, with a smile at the young fellow's interruption of his superior officer.

"I beg your pardon, Major Pemberton," Stanley stammered in some confusion. "Only—"

"Only you would rather that I did not tell about your struggle with the leopard. I think it ought to be told, and I am pretty sure Sir Archibald Campbell will agree with me," and Major Pemberton then gave a full account of the adventure in the forest.

"Thank you, major. You were certainly quite right in telling the story, for it is one that ought to be told and, if Mr. Brooke will forgive my saying so, is one of those cases in which it is a mistake for a man to try to hide his light under a bushel.

"You see, it cannot but make a difference in the estimation in which we hold you. Most young fellows would, as you did, have joined their countrymen when threatened by a greatly superior enemy and, again, most would, if prisoners, have taken any opportunity that offered to effect their escape. Therefore, in the brief account that you gave me, this morning, it appeared to me that you had behaved pluckily and shrewdly, and had well earned a commission, especially as you have a knowledge of the language. You simply told me that you had been able to render some service to the Burman who travelled down with you, but such service might have been merely that you assisted him when he was in want, bound up a wound, or any other small matter.

"Now we find that you performed an act of singular courage, an act that even the oldest shikaree would have reason to be proud of. Such an act—performed, too, for a stranger, and that stranger an enemy—would, of itself, give any man a title to the esteem and regard of any among whom he might be thrown, and would lead them to regard him in an entirely different light to that in which they would otherwise have held him.

"I think that you will all agree with me, gentlemen."

"Certainly."

There was a chorus of assent from the circle of officers. His narrative had, as the general said, shown that the young fellow was possessed of coolness, steadiness, and pluck; but this feat was altogether out of the common and, as performed by a mere lad, seemed little short of marvellous.

"You will, of course, have Hitchcock's quarters," the quartermaster general said to Stanley, as the party broke up. "It is a small room, but it has the advantage of being water tight, which is more than one can say of most of our quarters. It is a room in the upper storey of the next house. I fancy the poor fellow's card is on the door still. The commissariat offices are in the lower part of the house, and they occupy all the other rooms upstairs; but we kept this for one of the aides-de-camp, so that the general could send a message at once, night or day."

"Of course I shall want a horse, sir."

"Yes, you must have a horse. I will think over what we can do for you, in that way. There is no buying one here, unless a field officer is killed, or dies.

"By the way, Hitchcock's horses are not sold, yet. They were not put up, yesterday. I have no doubt that some arrangement can be made about them, and the saddlery."

"That would be excellent, sir. As I told the general this morning, I have some rubies and other stones. I have no idea what they are worth. They were given me by those men I was with, in the forest. They said that they were very difficult to dispose of, as the mines are monopolies of government so, when my man Meinik proposed it, they acceded at once to his request, and handed a number of them over to me.

"I have not even looked at them. There may be someone, here, who could tell me what they are worth."

"Yes, I have no doubt some of those Parsee merchants, who have lately set up stores, could tell you. I should only take down two or three stones to them, if I were you. If they are really valuable, you might be robbed of them; but I am rather afraid that you will not find that they are so. Brigand fellows will hardly have been likely to give you anything very valuable."

"I don't think that they looked at them, themselves; they were the proceeds of one day's attack on a number of merchants. They found them concealed on them, and they were so well satisfied with the loot they got, in merchandise that they could dispose of, that I doubt whether they even opened the little packages of what they considered the most dangerous goods to keep; for if they were captured, and gems found upon them, it would be sufficient to condemn them, at once."

"Do you speak Hindustani? If not, I will send one of the clerks with you."

"Yes, sir; and three or four other of the Indian languages."

"Ah! Then you can manage for yourself.

"When you have seen one of these Parsees, come round to my office. I shall have seen the paymaster by that time, and have talked over with him how we can arrange about the horses. I should think that the best way would be to have a committee of three officers to value them, and the saddlery; and then you might authorize him to receive your extra pay as interpreter, and to place it to Hitchcock's account. You will find your own staff pay more than ample, here; as there are no expenses, whatever, except your share of the mess."

"Thank you very much, indeed, Colonel."

In the morning, Stanley took one of the little parcels from the bag and opened it. It contained thirty stones, of which twenty were rubies, six sapphires, and four emeralds. They seemed to him of a good size but, as they were in the rough state, he had no idea what size they would be, when cut.

There were three of the Parsee merchants. The first he went to said, at once, that he did not deal in gems. The next he called on examined the stones carefully.

"It is impossible to say, for certain," he said, "how much they are worth until they are cut, for there may be flaws in them that cannot be detected. Now, if I were to buy them like this, I could not give more than a hundred rupees each. If they are all flawless, they would be worth much more; but it would be a pure speculation, and I will not go beyond that sum."

Stanley then visited the third store. The trader here inspected them a little more carefully than the last had done, examined them with a magnifying glass, held them up to the light; then he weighed each stone and jotted down some figures. At last, he said:

"The stones are worth five thousand rupees. If they are flawless, they would be worth double that. I will give you five thousand myself or, if you like, I will send them to a friend of mine, at Madras. He is one of the best judges of gems in India. He shall say what he will give for them, and you shall pay me five percent commission. He is an honest trader; you can ask any of the officers from Madras."

"I will accept that offer, if you will make me an advance of fifteen hundred rupees upon them; and will pay you, at the rate of ten percent per annum, interest till you receive the money for them."

The Parsee again took the gems, and examined them carefully.

"Do you agree to take the jeweller's offer, whatever it is?"

"Yes; that is to say, if it is over the five thousand. If it is under the five thousand, I will sell them to you at that sum."

"I agree to that," the man said. "But do not fear; if the two largest stones are without a flaw, they alone are worth five thousand."

"Let us draw up the agreement, at once," Stanley said.

And, accordingly, the terms were drawn up, in Hindustani, and were signed by both parties. The Parsee then went to a safe, unlocked it, and counted out the rupees, to the value of 150 pounds. These he placed in a bag, and handed them to Stanley who, delighted at the sum that he had obtained for but a small portion of the gems, went to the quartermaster general's office.

"We have just finished your business," Colonel Adair said, as he entered. "Major Moultrie, the paymaster, Colonel Watt, and myself have examined the horses. I know that Hitchcock paid sixty pounds apiece for them, at Calcutta. They are both Arabs, and good ones, and were not dear at the money. Our opinion is that, if they were put up to auction here, they would fetch 40 pounds apiece; and that the saddle and bridle, holsters, and accoutrements would fetch another 20 pounds. There are also a pair of well-finished pistols in the holsters. They were overlooked, or they would have been put up in the sale yesterday. They value them at 8 pounds the brace; in all, 108 pounds.

"Will that suit you? The major will, as I proposed, stop the money from your pay as a first-class interpreter—that is, two hundred and fifty rupees a month—so that, in four months and a half, you will have cleared it off."

"I am very much obliged to you, Colonel; but I have just received an advance of fifteen hundred rupees, on some of my gems which the Parsee is going to send to a jeweller, of the name of Burragee, at Madras."

"I congratulate you, for I hardly hoped that they would turn out to be worth so much. Burragee is a first-rate man, and you can rely upon getting a fair price from him. Well, that obviates all difficulty.

"By the way, I should recommend you to get a light bedstead and bed, and a couple of blankets, at one of the Parsee stores. Of course, you did not think of it, yesterday, or you might have bought Hitchcock's. However, I noticed in one of the Parsees' shops a number of light bamboo bedsteads; which are the coolest and best in a climate like this. If you lay a couple of blankets on the bamboos, you will find that you don't want a mattress."

"I don't know what my duties are, sir, or whether the general will be wanting me."

"He will not want you, today. Anyhow, he will know that you will be making your arrangements, and moving into your quarters.

"By the way, Hitchcock brought a syce with him. You must have a man for your horses, and I have no doubt he will be glad to stay on with you."

Two hours later Stanley was installed in his quarters—a room some twelve feet long by eight wide. A bed stood in one corner. There was a table for writing on, two light bamboo chairs, and an Indian lounging chair. In the corner was a small bamboo table, on which was a large brass basin; while a great earthenware jar for water stood beside it, and a piece of Indian matting covered the floor.

He learned that the staff messed together, in a large room in the next house; and that he would there get a cup of coffee and a biscuit, at six in the morning, breakfast at half-past eight, lunch and dinner; so that he would not have to do any cooking, whatever, for himself. He had given Meinik a small sum to lay out in cooking pots and necessaries for his own use.

The syce had gladly entered his employ. Stanley had inspected the horses which, although light to the eye, would be well capable of bearing his weight through a long day's work. They were picketed, with those of the general and staff, in a line behind the house devoted to the headquarters. After lunch he went into the general's, and reported himself as ready for duty.

"I shall not want you this afternoon, Mr. Brooke. Here is a plan showing the position of the different corps. You had better get it by heart. When it gets cooler, this afternoon, I should advise you to ride out and examine the position and the roads; so that even at night you can, if necessary, carry a message to any of the regiments. The Burmese are constantly creeping up and stabbing our sentries, and sometimes they attack in considerable force. When anything like heavy firing begins, it will be your duty to find out at once what is going on; and bring me word, as it may be necessary to send up reinforcements.

"In the morning it will be your duty to examine any prisoners who have been taken during the night, and also natives who have made their way into the town; in order to ascertain whether any date has been fixed for their next attack, and what forces are likely to take part in it. You can make your man useful at this work.

"By the way, I will tell Colonel Adair to put him down on the list of the quartermaster's native followers. He need not do anything else but this. But it is likely that the natives will speak more freely to him than they would to a white officer, and he may as well be earning thirty rupees a month, and drawing rations, as hanging about all day, doing nothing."

Thanking the general, Stanley took the plan and, going back to his quarters, studied it attentively. He told Meinik of the arrangement that had been made for him, with which the Burman was much pleased. Thirty rupees a month seemed a large sum to him, and he was glad that he should not be costing Stanley money for his food.

Three hours later one of his horses was brought round, and he started on his ride through the camp. There were two roads leading through the town to the great pagoda. Both were thickly bordered by religious houses and pagodas—the latter, for the most part, being in a state of dilapidation. Houses and pagodas alike had been turned into quarters for the troops, and had been invaluable during the wet season.

The terrace of the great pagoda was occupied by the 89th Regiment and the Madras Artillery. This was the most advanced position, and was the key of the defence. Leaving his horse in charge of his syce, at the foot of the pagoda hill, Stanley went up to the terrace and soon entered into conversation with some of the British officers; who at once recognized him as having been, that morning, put in orders as the general's aide-de-camp. As he was unknown to everyone, and no ship had come in for some days, there was naturally much curiosity felt as to who the stranger was who had been appointed to a commission, and to the coveted post of aide-de-camp, in one day.

After chatting for two or three minutes, they conducted Stanley to the colonel's quarters, a small building at the foot of the pagoda.

"This is Mr. Brooke, Colonel, the gentleman who was gazetted to us, this morning."

"I am glad to see you, Mr. Brooke; but I should be more glad, still, if you had been coming to join, for we have lost several officers from sickness, and there are others unfit for duty. When did you arrive?"

"I arrived only yesterday morning, sir. I came here in disguise, having made my way down from Ava."

"Oh, indeed! We heard a report that a white man had arrived, in disguise, at the lines of the 45th Native Infantry; but we have had no particulars, beyond that."

"I was captured at Ramoo, sir, while I was acting as an officer of the native levy. Fortunately I was stunned by the graze of a musket ball and, being supposed dead, was not killed; as were all the other officers who fell into the hands of the Burmese. Their fury had abated by the time I came to myself, and I was carried up to Ava with some twenty sepoy prisoners. After a time I made my escape from prison, and took to the forest; where I remained some weeks, till the search for me had abated somewhat. Then I made my way down the country, for the most part in a fishing boat, journeying only at night, and so succeeded in getting in here. Fortunately I speak the Mug dialect, which is very closely akin to the Burmese."

"Well," the colonel said, "I hope that you will consider the regiment your home; though I suppose that, until the campaign is at an end, you will only be able to pay us an occasional visit. You are lucky in getting the staff appointment. No doubt your being able to talk Burmese has a great deal to do with it."

"Everything, I think, sir. The general had no one on his staff who could speak the language and, unless he happened to have with him one of the very few men here who can do so, often had to wait some time before a prisoner could be questioned."

He remained chatting for half an hour, and then rode back to the town; taking the other road to that which he had before traversed.

Chapter 8: The Pagoda.

Two days later a prisoner was captured, when endeavouring to crawl up the pagoda hill—having slipped past the outposts—and was sent into headquarters. Stanley questioned him closely; but could obtain no information, whatever, from him. Telling him to sit down by the house, he placed a British sentry over him.

"Keep your eye," he said, "on the door of the next house. You will see a Burman come out. You are to let him talk with the prisoner, but let no one else speak to him. Don't look as if you had any orders about him, but stand carelessly by. The fellow will tell us nothing, but it is likely enough that he will speak to one of his own countrymen."

"I understand, sir."

Stanley went into his house and told Meinik what he was wanted to do.

"I will find out," Meinik said confidently and, a minute or two later, went out and strolled along past the prisoner. As he did so he gave him a little nod and, returning again shortly, saluted him in Burmese. The third time he passed he looked inquiringly at the sentry, as if to ask whether he might speak to the prisoner. The soldier, however, appeared to pay no attention to him; but stood with grounded musket, leaning against the wall, and Meinik went up to the man.

"You are in bad luck," he said. "How did you manage to fall into the hands of these people?"

"It matters not to you," the Burman said indignantly, "since you have gone over to them."

"Not at all, not at all," Meinik replied. "Do you not know that there are many here who, like myself, have come in as fugitives, with instructions what to do when our people attack? I am expecting news as to when the soothsayers declare the day to be a fortunate one. Then we shall all be in readiness to do our share, as soon as the firing begins."

"It will be on the fourth day from this," the Burman said. "We do not know whether it will be the night before, or the night after. The soothsayers say both will be fortunate nights; and the Invulnerables will then assault the pagoda, and sweep the barbarians away. The princes and woongees will celebrate the great annual festival there, two days later."

"That is good!" Meinik said. "We shall be on the lookout, never fear."

"What are they going to do to me. Will they cut off my head?"

"No, you need not be afraid of that. These white men never kill prisoners. After they are once taken, they are safe. You will be kept for a time and, when our countrymen have destroyed the barbarians and taken the town, they will free you from prison.

"There are some of the white officers coming. I must get away, or they will be asking questions."

As he walked away, the sentry put his musket to his shoulder and began to march briskly up and down. A moment later the general stepped up to him.

"What are you doing, my man? Who put you on guard over that prisoner?"

"I don't know his name, sir," the sentry said, standing at attention. "He was a young staff officer. He came to the guard tent and called for a sentry and, as I was next on duty, the sergeant sent me with him. He put me to watch this man."

"All right; keep a sharp lookout over him.

"I wonder what Brooke left the fellow here for, instead of sending him to prison," the general said to Colonel Adair. "We examined him, but could get nothing out of him, even when I threatened to hang him."

"I will just run up to his quarters and ask him, sir."

Just as he entered the house, Stanley was coming down the stairs.

"The general wants to know, Mr. Brooke, why you placed a prisoner under a guard by his house; instead of sending him to the prison, as usual?"

"I was just coming to tell him, sir."

"Ah, well, he is outside; so you can tell us both together."

"Well, Mr. Brooke, what made you put a sentry over the man, and leave him here? The men are hard enough worked, without having unnecessary sentry duty."

"Yes, sir; I only left him for a few minutes. I was convinced the man knew something, by his demeanour when I questioned him; and I thought I might as well try if my man could not get more out of him than I could. So I put a sentry over him, and gave him instructions that he was to let a Burman, who would come out of this house, speak to the prisoner; but that no one else was to approach him.

"Then I instructed my man as to the part that he was to play. He passed two or three times, making a sign of friendship to the prisoner. Then, as the sentry had apparently no objection to his speaking to him, he came up. At first the man would say nothing to him, but Meinik told him that he was one of those who had been sent to Rangoon to aid, when the assault took place; and that he was anxiously waiting for news when the favourable day would be declared by the astrologers, so that he and those with him would be ready to begin their work, as soon as the attack commenced. The prisoner fell into the snare, and told him that it would be made either on the night before or on the night of the fourth day from this; when the Invulnerables had undertaken to storm the pagoda. It seems that the date was fixed partly because it was a fortunate one, and also in order that the princes and head officials might properly celebrate the great annual festival of the pagoda; which falls, it seems, on the sixth day from now."

"Excellent indeed, Mr. Brooke. It is a great relief to me to know when the assault is going to take place, and from what point it will be delivered. But what made you think of the story that the Burman was one of a party that had come in to do something?"

"It was what Colonel Adair mentioned at dinner, last evening, sir. He was saying how awkward it would be if some of these natives who have come in were to fire the town, just as a strong attack was going on, and most of the troops engaged with the enemy. It was not unlikely that, if such a plan had been formed, the prisoner would know of it; and that he might very well believe what my man said, that some men had been sent into the town, with that or some similar intention."

"True enough. The idea was a capital one, Mr. Brooke; and we shall be ready for them, whichever night they come.

"Will you please go across to the guard tent, and tell the sergeant to send a corporal across to the man on sentry, with orders to take the prisoner to the jail, and hand him over to the officer in command there? When you have done that, will you ride out to the pagoda and inform your colonel what you have discovered? It will be a relief to him, and to the men for, as the date of the attack has been uncertain, he has been obliged to largely increase his patrols, and to keep a portion of his force, all night, under arms. He will be able to decrease the number, and let the men have as much sleep as they can, for the next two nights.

"The clouds are banking up, and I am very much afraid that the rain is going to set in again. They say that we shall have another two months of it."

After seeing the prisoner marched away, Stanley rode to the pagoda and, saying that he had come with a message from the general, was at once shown into the colonel's quarters.

"Any news, Mr. Brooke?"

"Yes, Colonel; the general has requested me to inform you, at once, of the news that I have obtained from a prisoner; namely that, either on the night of the 30th or 31st, your position will be attacked, by the men who are called the Invulnerables."

"We will give them a chance of proving whether their title is justified," the colonel said, cheerfully. "That is very good news. The men are getting thoroughly worn out with the extra night duty caused by this uncertainty. You think that there is no doubt that the news is correct?"

"None whatever, sir. I could do nothing with the prisoner; but my Burman pretended to have a mission here, to kick up a row in the town when the attack began; and the man, believing his story, at once told him that the attack will be made on the pagoda, by the Invulnerables, on the early morning of the fourth day from this—or on the next night—the astrologers having declared that the time would be propitious, and also because they were very anxious to have the pagoda in their hands, in order that the princes might celebrate the great annual festival that is held, it seems, two days after."

The colonel laughed.

"I am afraid that they will have to put it off for another year. The general gave no special orders, I suppose?"

"No, sir; he had only just received the news, and ordered me to ride over at once to you, as he was sure that you would be glad to know that it would not be necessary to keep so many men on night duty, for the next two days."

"Thank you, Mr. Brooke. Will you kindly tell the general that I am very pleased at the news? No doubt he will be up here, himself, this afternoon or tomorrow."

Stanley rode back fast, and was just in time to escape a tremendous downpour of rain, which began a few minutes after he returned. He went in at once to the general's, but was told that he was engaged with the quartermaster and adjutant generals. He therefore went into the anteroom where Tollemache, his fellow aide-de-camp, was standing at the window, looking out at the rain.

"This is a beastly climate," he grumbled. "It is awful to think that we are likely to get another two months of it; and shall then have to wait at least another, before the country is dry enough to make a move. You were lucky in getting in, just now, before it began."

"I was indeed," Stanley agreed, "for I had ridden off without my cloak, and should have been drenched, had it begun two minutes earlier."

"I saw you gallop past, and wondered what you were in such a hurry about. Was it like this when you were out in the woods?"

"Not in the least. There is very little rain near Ava; though the country is a good deal flooded, where it is flat, from the rivers being swollen by the rains in the hills. We had lovely weather, all the time."

"I should like to see a little lovely weather here. The last week has been almost worse than the rain—the steamy heat is like being in a vapour bath. If it were not that I am on duty, I should like to strip, and go out and enjoy a shower bath for half an hour."

Stanley laughed.

"It really would be pleasant," he said. "I don't think that I gained much by hurrying back, for the gallop has thrown me into such a perspiration that I might almost as well be drenched by the rain, except that my clothes won't suffer so much."

"Ah, it is all very well for you," the other grumbled. "Of course, after once having wandered about in the forest, painted up like a nigger, you feel cheerful under almost any circumstances; but for us who have been cooped up, doing nothing, in this beastly place, it is impossible to look at things cheerfully."

"Have you heard that the enemy are going to attack, on Tuesday or Wednesday night?"

"No!" the other exclaimed, with a sudden animation. "The general only came in a quarter of an hour ago and, as he had the two bigwigs with him, of course I did not speak to him. Is it certain? How did you hear it?"

"It is quite certain—that is, unless the Burmese change their mind, which is not likely. The princes want to celebrate the great annual festival at the pagoda, on Friday; and so the Invulnerables are going, as they think, to capture it either on Tuesday or Wednesday night. I have just been up there to tell the colonel.

"As to your other question—how did I learn it—I got it, or rather my Burman did, from that prisoner we were questioning this morning. He would not say anything then; but my man got round him and, believing that he was a spy, or something of that kind, the prisoner told him all about it."

"Are they only going to attack at the pagoda?"

"That I cannot say; that is the only point that the man mentioned. I should say that it would only be there."

"Why should it only be there?"

"Because I should imagine that even the Burmese must be beginning to doubt whether they could defeat our whole force and, as they particularly wish to occupy the pagoda on Friday, they would hardly risk an attack on other points, which might end in disaster while, what with the propitious nature of the day, and the fact that the Invulnerables have undertaken to capture the pagoda, no doubt they look upon that as certain."

"I suppose that you are right, Brooke. Well, I do hope that the general will let us go up to see the fun."

"What, even if it is raining?"

"Of course," the other said, indignantly. "What does one care for rain, when there is something to do? Why, I believe that, if it was coming down in a sheet, and the men had to wade through the swamps waist deep, they would all march in the highest spirits, if there was the chance of a fight with the Burmans at the end of the day.

"However, I am afraid that there is no chance of our getting off, unless the chief goes, himself. There may be attacks in other places. As you say, it is not likely; but it is possible. Therefore, of course, we should have to be at hand, to carry orders. Of course, if he takes his post at the pagoda it will be all right; though the betting is that we shall have to gallop off, just at the most interesting moment."

Presently the two officers left the general. The latter's bell rang, and Stanley went in.

"You saw the colonel, Mr. Brooke?"

"Yes, sir; and he begged me to say that he was extremely glad to get the news, and much obliged to you for sending it so promptly."

"There is no occasion for you and Mr. Tollemache to stay here any longer, now; but at five o'clock I shall ride out to the pagoda. At any rate, should I want you before then, I shall know where to send for you."

This was the general order, for in the afternoon there was, when things were quiet, a hush for two or three hours. The work of the aides-de-camp was, indeed, generally very light for, as there were no movements of troops, no useless parades, and very few military orders to be carried, they had a great deal of time on their hands; and usually took it by turns to be on duty for the day, the one off duty being free to pay visits to acquaintances in the various camps, or on board ship. During the rainy season, however, very few officers or men went beyond shelter, unless obliged to do so and, from two till four or five, no small proportion passed the time in sleep.

Stanley had intended to pay a visit to the Larne; as Captain Marryat, who had dined at the staff mess on the previous evening, had invited him to go on board, whenever it might be convenient to him. The Larne had performed good service, in the operations against the stockades; and her boats had been particularly active and successful. Her captain was one of the most popular, as well as one of the most energetic officers in the service; and was to become as popular, with future generations, as the brightest of all writers of sea stories.

However, the day was not favourable for an excursion on the water. Stanley therefore went back to his room where, divesting himself of his jacket, he sat down at the open window, and read up a batch of the last newspapers, from England, that had been lent him by Colonel Adair.

At five o'clock Meinik came in, to say that his horse was at the general's door. Stanley hastily put on his jacket and cloak, and sallied out. The general came down in a few minutes, followed by Tollemache and, mounting, they rode to the pagoda.

Here Sir Archibald had a talk with the colonel of the 89th, and the officer commanding the battery of the Madras Artillery. Both were of opinion that their force was amply sufficient to resist any attack. The only approach to it from the forest was a long road between two swamps which, a short distance away, had become lakes since the wet weather set in.

"Had they taken us by surprise," the colonel said, "some of them might have got across, before we were quite ready for them, and might have given us some trouble but, as we shall be prepared, I don't think that any of them will reach the foot of this hill and, if they did, none of them would reach this terrace. If an attack were made from the other side, it would of course be a good deal more serious, as the ground is firm and they could attack all along the foot of the hill; but as they cannot get there, until they have defeated the rest of the army, I consider that, even without the assistance of the guns, we could hold the hill with musket and bayonet against any force that they are likely to bring against us."

"Very well, then; I shall not reinforce you, Colonel. Of course, we shall keep a considerable number of troops under arms, in case they should attack all along the line, at the same time that they make their principal effort here.

"I rather hope that the rain will keep on, until this affair is over."

The colonel looked surprised.

"I am much more afraid," the general went on, "of fire in the town, than I am of an attack without. The number of natives there is constantly increasing. No doubt the greater number of those who come in are natives of the place, who have managed, since we cleared out their war galleys from some of the creeks and channels, to escape from the authorities and to make their way in, either on foot or in fishermen's boats; but some of them may be sent in as spies, or to do us harm. I have been having a long talk over it with Colonel Adair, this afternoon, and he quite agrees with me that we must reckon on the probability of an attempt to fire the town. It would be a terrible blow to us if they succeeded, for the loss of our stores would completely cripple us. They would naturally choose the occasion of an attack upon our lines for the attempt for, in the first place, most of the troops will be under arms and drawn up outside the town; and in the second place the sight of the place on fire would cause much confusion, would inspirit our assailants, and necessitate a considerable force being withdrawn from the field, to fight the fire.

"If the rains continue we need feel no uneasiness, whatever, for there would be no getting anything to burn; whereas in dry weather, a man with a torch might light the thatch as fast as he could run along, and a whole street would be in a blaze in two or three minutes and, if a wind happened to be blowing, it might make a sweep of the whole place, in spite of all our efforts."

"I see that, sir. I own that I had never given it a thought, before."

"I shall come up here, Colonel, unless we obtain sure news, before the time arrives, that the attack is going to be a general one; indeed, it is in any case the best place to post myself, for I can see over the whole country, and send orders to any point where the enemy may be making progress, or where our men can advance with advantage. The line of fire flashes will be as good a guide, at night, as the smoke by day."

"I will get a cot rigged up for you, General, as we don't know which night it is to be."

"Thank you. Yes, I may just as well turn in, all standing, as the sailors say, and get a few hours' sleep; for in this climate one cannot keep at it, night and day, as we had to do in Spain."

The two aides-de-camp were kept in suspense as to what the general's intentions were, and it was not until the morning of Tuesday that he said to them:

"I am going up to the pagoda this evening, Mr. Tollemache; and you had better, therefore, put some provisions and a bottle of brandy into your holsters."

At nine in the evening they rode off. The rain had ceased; the moon was shining through the clouds.

"It will be down by twelve o'clock," Tollemache said. "I should think, most likely, they will wait for that. They will think that we shall not be able to take aim at them, in the darkness; and that they will manage to get to the foot of the hill, without loss."

When they reached the platform in front of the pagoda, their syces took their horses. Meinik had begged Stanley to let him take his groom's place on this occasion and, laying aside the dress he ordinarily wore, assumed the light attire of an Indian syce, and had run behind the horses with the others. He had a strong desire to see the fighting, but his principal motive in asking to be allowed to accompany Stanley was that, although greatly impressed with what he had seen of the drill and discipline of the white and native regiments, he could not shake off his faith in the Invulnerables; and had a conviction that the pagoda would be captured, and therefore wished to be at hand, to bring up Stanley's horse at the critical moment, and to aid him to escape from the assailants.

Fires were burning, as usual, at several points on the terrace. Two companies were under arms, and were standing well back from the edge of the platform, so as to be out of sight of those in the forest. The rest of the men were sitting round the fires. Their muskets were piled in lines hard by.

When he alighted, the general proceeded to the battery.

"Have you everything in readiness, Major?" he asked the officer in command.

"Yes, sir. The guns are all loaded with grape and, as it will be very dark when the moon has set, I have pegged a white tape along, just under each gun; so that they can be trained upon the causeway, however dark it may be."

"That is a very good idea," the general said. "There is nothing more difficult than laying guns accurately in the dark."

The colonel now arrived, a soldier having brought the news to him, as soon as the general reached the platform.

"I see that you are well prepared to give them a hot reception, Colonel."

"I hope so, sir. I have a strong patrol out beyond the causeway. My orders are that they are to resist strongly, for a minute or two, so as to give us time to have the whole of our force in readiness here. Then they are to retreat at the double to the foot of the hill; and then to open fire again, so that we may know that they are out of the way, and that we can begin when we like. We have been making some port fires this afternoon, and I have a dozen men halfway down the hill and, directly the outposts are safely across, they are to light the port fires, which will enable us to take aim. These white tapes will be guide enough for the artillery; but my men would make very poor shooting, if they could not make out the muzzles of their guns. Anyhow, I don't think that it is likely that the enemy will get across the causeway, however numerous they may be."

"I don't think they will, Colonel. Certainly, so far, they have shown themselves contemptible in attack; and have never made a successful stand, even for a minute, when we once entered their stockades, though they defend them pluckily enough until we have once got a footing inside.

"Still, these fellows ought to fight well tonight for, if they are beaten, it will be a death blow to their reputation among their countrymen. Besides, many of them do believe in the power they claim and, as we have found before now, in India, fanatics are always formidable."

After taking a look round with the colonel, the general accompanied him to his quarters; while the two aides-de-camp remained on the terrace, chatting with the officers; and then, after a time, went with some of them to the mess tent, where they sat smoking and talking until midnight, when all went out.

The troops were formed up under arms, and all listened impatiently for something that would show that the long-delayed assault would take place that night. At half-past twelve there was the sound of a shot, which sent an electrical thrill through the troops. It was followed almost immediately by others. The troops were at once marched forward to the edge of the platform. A babel of wild shouts went up at the sound of the first shots, followed by a burst of firing.

The two aides-de-camp had taken their places close to the general, who was standing in the gap between the infantry and the guns; and was looking intently, through his night glasses, at the forest.

"They are in a dense mass," he said. "I cannot see whether they are in any regular order, but they are certainly packed a great deal closer than I have ever before seen them. Those in front have got lanterns. They are coming along fast."

As yet the enemy were half a mile away, but the lanterns and the flash of their guns showed their exact position, while the fire of the outposts was kept up steadily. As the latter fell back along the causeway, the interval between the two forces decreased; and then the fire of the outposts ceased as, in accordance with their orders, they broke into the double.

The uproar of the advancing crowd was prodigious. Every man was yelling, at the top of his voice, imprecations upon the defenders of the pagoda; who were standing in absolute silence, waiting eagerly for the word of command. Suddenly the firing broke out again at the foot of the hill and, immediately, a bright light shot up from its face.

The edge of the dense mass of Burmese was now but some fifty yards from the wall that surrounded the foot of the hill, and the causeway behind was occupied by a solid mass of men. Then came the sharp order to the artillerymen, and gun after gun poured its charge of grape into the crowd while, at the same moment, the infantry began to fire, by companies, in steady volleys. For an instant the din of the assailants was silenced, then their shouts rose again and, after a moment's hesitation, they continued their advance.

But not for long. None but the most disciplined soldiers could have advanced under that storm of grape and bullets and, in ten minutes, they fled in wild confusion, leaving the causeway thickly covered with the dead. Again and again the British cheers rose, loud and triumphant; then the infantry were told to fall out, but the guns continued their fire, until the fugitives were well in the forest.

Between the shots the general listened attentively, and examined the country towards the town through his glasses.

"Everything is quiet," he said. "It is probable that, if those fellows had carried the hill, they would have made a signal, and there might have been a general attack. As it is, the affair is over for the night; and the Invulnerables will have some difficulty in accounting for their failure, and loss.

"Now, gentlemen, we may as well have up the horses, and ride back. We hardly expected to get away as soon as this."

"Well, Meinik, what do you think of your Invulnerables, now?" Stanley said, as the Burman, after picketing his horse, came up to his room to see if he wanted anything, before lying down on his bed in the passage.

"I don't know," the Burman replied, gravely. "They may be holy men; and proof, perhaps, against native weapons; but they are no good against your cannon and muskets. I understand, now, how it is that you beat us so easily. Your men all stood quiet, and in order; one only heard the voices of the officers, and the crash as they fired together.

"Then, your guns are terrible. I have seen ours firing but, though our pieces are smaller than yours, your men fire five shots to our one. I stood by while they were loading. It was wonderful. Nobody talked, and nobody gave orders. Each man knew what he had to do—one did something and, directly, another did something and, almost before the smoke of the last shot was out of the gun, it was ready to be fired again.

"It is clear to me that we have not learnt how to fight, and that your way of having only a few men, well taught and knowing exactly what they have to do, is better than ours of having great numbers, and letting everyone fight as he pleases. It is bad, every way. The brave men get to the front, and are killed; and then the others run away.

"You were right. We shall never turn you out of Rangoon, till Bandoola comes. He has all our best troops with him, and he has never been beaten. All the troops know him, and will fight for him as they will not fight for these princes—who know nothing of war, and are chosen only because they are the king's brothers. When he comes, you will see."

"No doubt we shall, Meinik; and you will see that, although they may make a better fight of it than they have done tonight, it will be just the same, in the end."

For the next two months the time passed slowly. No attacks were made by the enemy, after the defeat of the assault upon the pagoda. Peasants and deserters who came in reported that there was profound depression among the Burmese troops. Great numbers had left the colours, and there was no talk of another attack.

The troops being, therefore, relieved of much of their arduous night duty, the English took the offensive. The stockades on the Dalla river, and those upon the Panlang branch—the principal passage into the main stream of the Irrawaddy—were attacked and carried, the enemy suffering heavily, and many pieces of artillery being captured.

The rains continued almost unceasingly, and the troops suffered terribly in health. Scarce three thousand remained fit for duty, and the greater portion of these were so emaciated and exhausted, by the effects of the climate, that they were altogether unfit for active operations.

Three weeks after the fight at the pagoda a vessel came up the river, with a letter from the officer in command of the troops assembled to bar the advance of Bandoola against Chittagong, saying that the Burmese army had mysteriously disappeared. It had gone off at night, so quietly and silently that our outposts, which were but a short distance from it, heard no sign or movement, whatever. The Burmese had taken with them their sick, tents, and stores; and nothing but a large quantity of grain had been found in their deserted stockades.

The news was received with satisfaction by the troops. There was little doubt that the court of Ava—finding that their generals had all failed in making the slightest impression upon our lines, and had lost vast numbers of men—had at last turned to the leader who had conquered province after province for it, and had sent him orders to march, with his whole army, to bring the struggle to a close. The soldiers rejoiced at the thought that they were at last to meet a real Burmese army. Hitherto they had generally stood on the defensive, and had to fight the climate rather than the foe; and it seemed to them that the campaign was likely to be interminable.

The march of the Burmese from Ramoo to Sembeughewn, the nearest point of the river to the former town, must have been a terrible one. The distance was over two hundred miles, the rains were ceaseless, and the country covered with jungles and marshes, and intersected by rivers. No other army could have accomplished such a feat. The Burmans, however, accustomed to the unhealthy climate, lightly clad, and carrying no weight save their arms and sixteen days' supply of rice, passed rapidly over it.

Every man was accustomed to the use of an axe and to the formation of rafts and, in an incredibly short time, rivers were crossed, deep swamps traversed on roads made by closely-packed faggots and, but a few days after hearing that Bandoola had started, the general learned, from peasants, that the news had come down that he and a portion of his army had arrived at Sembeughewn.

Almost at the same time, other parties who travelled down along the coast reached Donabew, a town on the Irrawaddy, some forty miles in direct line from Rangoon. This had been named as the rendezvous of the new army, and to this a considerable proportion of Bandoola's force made their way direct from Ramoo; it being the custom of the Burmese to move, when on a march through a country where no opposition was to be looked for, in separate detachments, each under its own leader, choosing its own way, and making for a general rendezvous. Travelling in this manner, they performed the journey far more rapidly than they could have done moving in one body, and could better find shelter and food.

Other forces from Prome, Tannoo, and other quarters were known to be marching towards Donabew. It was soon reported that the dejected forces around Rangoon had gained courage and confidence, at the news that Bandoola and his army were coming to their aid, and that the deserters were returning in large numbers from their villages. The British sick were sent away in the shipping to Mergy and Tavoy, two coast towns of which we had taken possession, and both of which were healthily situated.

The change had a marvellous effect, and men who would have speedily succumbed to the poisonous exhalations of the swamps round Rangoon rapidly regained their strength, in their new quarters.

Chapter 9: Victories.

In the meantime, negotiations had been going on with Siam, between which state and Burma there was the bitterest enmity. It had been thought that Siam would have willingly grasped the opportunity to revenge itself for the many losses of territory that it had suffered at the hands of Burma. This there was no doubt that it would have been glad to do, but our occupation of several points on the coast of Tenasserim roused the fears of Siam, and inclined it to the belief that we might prove an even more dangerous neighbour than Burma.

The court of Ava had, on its part, also sent urgent messages to the King of Siam—when misfortunes had, to some extent, lowered its pride—calling upon him to make common cause with Burma, and to join it in repelling an enemy who would doubtless be as dangerous to him as to Burma.

Siam, however, determined to steer a middle course. An army was assembled, in readiness for any contingency; but Siam believed as little as Burma, itself, that the British could possibly be victorious over that power; and feared its vengeance, if she were to ally herself with us while, upon the other hand, Siam had a long sea coast, and feared the injury our fleet might inflict upon it, were it to join Burma. The king, therefore, gave both powers an assurance of his friendship; and marched his army down to the frontier of the province of Martaban, which bordered on the great Salween river on the Tenasserim coast, and lay some two hundred miles from Rangoon, across the gulf of Martaban.

The intentions of the king being so doubtful, the advance of the Siamese army in this direction could not be regarded with indifference by the British. The town of Martaban was the centre of the Burmese military power in Tenasserim, and the advance towards it of the Siamese army would place it in direct communication with that of Burma. On the 13th of October, therefore, a force, consisting of a wing of the 41st Regiment and the 3rd Madras Infantry, sailed from Rangoon against the town. The expedition was delayed by light winds and, when it arrived at the mouth of the river, found that every preparation had been made for an obstinate defence. They learned, from a peasant, that strong works had been erected on every eminence round the town; and that the road from the coast had been cut, and stockaded.

Approach by this route was impossible, for there were twenty miles of country to be traversed; and much of this was under water from the inundations. It was, therefore, determined to go up the river, although this was so shallow and full of shoals that the navigation was extremely difficult. At last, after great labour—incurred by the ships constantly getting ashore—they succeeded in making their way up to Martaban, and anchored off the town.

A heavy cannonade was carried on, for some time, between the ships and the enemy's works. Then the troops were embarked in boats, which rowed for the shore under a very heavy fire from the enemy. As soon as they landed, and advanced to attack the stockades, the Burmese lost heart and hastily retreated; while the inhabitants received the troops as they entered with the warmest welcome—for they were, for the most part, natives of Pegu, and still entertained a deep hatred for the Burmese, because of the long oppression that they had suffered at their hands.

Throughout the rest of Tenasserim, however; and indeed, throughout the whole country traversed by the troops later on, the inhabitants appeared to have entirely forgotten their ancient nationality, and the conquest of their country by the Burmans; and to have become completely absorbed by them. Throughout the whole time that we occupied Martaban, the people gave no trouble whatever and, indeed, offered to raise a force for service with us, if we wished it.

At the end of October the rain ceased—to the intense delight of the troops—and the cold season set in. November was, however, an exceptionally deadly month—the occasional days of fine weather drawing up the exhalations from the swamps—and the number of deaths was greater than they had been at any previous time. There was, too, no prospect of a forward movement, at present. The expedition had come unprovided with boats or other means of transport, making sure that an abundant supply would be obtained, in a country where the whole trade was carried on by the rivers. The promptness with which the native authorities had, on the first appearance of the fleet, sent every boat away, had disappointed this anticipation and, although the opening of some of the other rivers had enabled the local fishermen to bring their boats to Rangoon, where fish were eagerly purchased, the British troops were still, up to the end of November, without the means of sending a hundred men up the river, save in the boats of the fleet.

The Indian authorities—believing that, when the Burmese found themselves impotent to turn us out of Rangoon, the court of Ava would be glad to negotiate—had not, until the autumn was drawing to a close, thought of making any preparations to supply the army with water carriage. They now, however, began to bestir themselves. Five hundred boatmen were sent from Chittagong, bringing many boats down with them, and building others at Rangoon. Transports with draft cattle sailed from Bengal, and a considerable reinforcement of troops was on its way to join, at the end of December—for all the natives agreed that no movement could be made, by land, until the end of January.

In November, even Bandoola's army was obliged to make its approach by water. Early in that month it was learned that the Burmese general had given orders for the advance, and preparations were at once begun to meet what none doubted would be a very serious attack. The reinforcements had not yet arrived, and the greatly diminished force was far too small for the length of the line that had to be defended. Redoubts were therefore thrown up, pagodas and other buildings were fortified; and two complete lines of works constructed, from the great pagoda to the city, one facing east and the other west.

The post at Kemmendine was strengthened, and was supported by H. M. sloop Sophie, a company's cruiser, and a strong division of gunboats. The retention of this post was of great importance, as it barred the river approach to Rangoon, and prevented the enemy sending down a huge fleet of war galleys and fire rafts to attack the town, and set fire to the merchant shipping lying off it.

In the last week of November, smoke was seen to rise from many points in the forest. Many fugitives came in from their villages, and reported that Bandoola's army were all on their way down the river; and by the end of the month some sixty thousand men, with a large train of artillery and a body of cavalry, were assembled round our position. Of this force, thirty thousand were armed with muskets. They had with them, too, a great number of jingals. These little guns carried ball of from six to twelve ounces, and were mounted on a light carriage, which two men could wheel with ease. The cannon were carried to the scene of action on elephants. The cavalry were seven hundred strong, drawn from the borders of Manipur.

The rest of the army were armed with swords and spears, and carried implements for stockading and entrenching. The force was accompanied by a number of astrologers; and by the Invulnerables—who had, doubtless, satisfactorily explained their failure to capture the pagoda.

A great semicircle of light smoke, rising from the trees, showed that the position taken up by Bandoola extended from the river above Kemmendine to the neighbourhood of Rangoon. On the night of the 31st, the troops at the pagoda heard a loud and continuous stir in the forest. It gradually approached and, by morning, great masses of troops had gathered at the edge of the jungle, within musket shot of the post. The garrison there were drawn up in readiness to repel a sudden rush but, just as the sun rose, a din made by thousands of men engaged in cutting down the trees began, and it was evident that the Burmese were going to adopt their usual plan of entrenching themselves behind stockades.

During the time that had elapsed between the repulse of the Invulnerables and the arrival of Bandoola's army, Stanley's work was light, and the life dull and monotonous. An hour was spent, every morning, in examining the fugitives who had, by the retreat of the Burmese, been enabled to make their way back to the town; and of women who had escaped from the vigilance of the Burmese police, and had come in from the villages where they had been held as hostages for their husbands. Once or twice a week, he went off with the general to the hospital ship, to inquire into the state of the sick and to pay a visit to the long line of cots along the main and lower deck. Almost every day he rode, in spite of the weather, to one or other of the regimental camps; and soon came to know most of the officers of the force. His previous experience on the rivers had done much to acclimatise him, and his health continued good.

On the evening of the 30th he had, at the general's order, ridden up to the pagoda. It was considered likely that the attack would be delivered there in the first place and, at three o'clock in the morning, when it became evident that a large body of men were approaching through the forest, he galloped back to Rangoon with the news and, at five, rode out again with Sir A. Campbell.

Among the garrison there was much disappointment when the sound of wood chopping announced that the Burmese did not intend to attack; but the general, who had been watching the edge of the jungle through his glasses, lowered them and put them into their case with an expression of satisfaction.

"I don't want them to attack, Colonel," he said. "If they do, and we beat them off, we are no nearer the end than before. That sort of thing might be carried on for months; as long, in fact, as there remains a man to bring up. What we want is to inflict such a heavy blow upon them, that even the court at Ava may become convinced that they cannot hope to drive us out of Rangoon; in which case they may consent to negotiate, and we may bring the war to an end.

"Heaven knows that we have suffered enough loss, at present; and I don't want to have to undertake such a difficult operation as an advance against Ava. I am glad to see that they have begun to construct stockades. I do not intend to interfere until they have completely finished their work, and gained sufficient confidence to make a general attack on us. Then we shall be able to give them a heavy lesson.

"Ah, there they are, at work!"

As he spoke, a roar of musketry and artillery broke out suddenly from Kemmendine, and all eyes were turned in that direction. The spot was two miles distant, but the forest shut out, alike, the view of the river and of the works held by us. The exact position, however, was indicated by the masts of the two war vessels, rising above the trees.

Soon great wreaths of heavy white smoke rose above the forest, in and around Kemmendine, shutting out all view. The fire continued without abatement, and it was evident that the attack was a hot and determined one. Confident as all felt that the little fort would be able to defend itself successfully, the great smoke clouds were watched with some feeling of anxiety; for the garrison was, after all, but a handful. In momentary intervals of the firing, the yells and shouts of the natives could be distinctly heard and, once or twice, after a heavy broadside from the ships of war, the cheers of the British sailors could be plainly recognized.

After two hours' fighting the din gradually ceased. The clouds of smoke rolled away, and the masts of the ships became visible, and the garrison of the pagoda raised three hearty cheers, to tell the defenders that their successful defence had been watched and welcomed.

Presently some heavy columns of the enemy issued from the forest, on the other side of the river; and marched across the plain to Dalla, which faced Rangoon. They moved with great regularity and order, led by their chiefs on horseback, their gilded umbrellas glittering in the rays of the sun. On reaching the bank of the river opposite Rangoon, they began entrenching themselves and throwing up stockades and batteries; with the evident intention of opening fire on the shipping. Soon afterwards large bodies of men issued from the forest facing the pagoda and, marching along a slight ridge, that extended from that point to the creek below Rangoon, took up their position there, and began entrenching themselves all along the line. Thus the British position was now completely surrounded; there was, however, no doubt that the main body of the enemy was still facing the pagoda.

"We must see what they are doing," the general said. "This is too important a point for us to allow them to erect a strongly fortified position, close at hand."

Accordingly, Tollemache was sent down with an order to the 18th Madras Infantry—supported by a detachment of the 13th Regiment, under Major Sale—to advance against the enemy in the jungle. The movements of this force were eagerly watched from the terrace of the pagoda. At a rapid pace they crossed the intervening ground, and a rattle of musketry broke out from the jungle as they approached. The British made no response; but charged, with a cheer, and were soon lost to sight in the trees. Their regular volleys could be heard, at short intervals, above the scattered rattle of the Burmese musketeers; and their cheers frequently rose, loud and triumphant. In half an hour the red line emerged again from the jungle, having destroyed the stockades the Burmese had erected; captured several guns, a quantity of muskets, and entrenching tools thrown away by the Burmese; and killed a large number of the enemy.

During the day the enemy made repeated efforts to send fire rafts down the river from above Kemmendine. These rafts were constructed of bamboos, upon which were placed great numbers of earthenware pots, filled with petroleum. These rafts were skilfully constructed, and made in sections so that, when they drifted against an anchor chain, they would divide—those on each side swinging round, so as to envelop the ship on both sides with fire.

The sailors from the sloops and gunboats rowed up to meet the rafts and, although a heavy fire was kept up by the enemy, from the jungles lining the banks, they succeeded in towing most of them safely to shore; while the rest grounded on a projecting spit, off Kemmendine.

So diligently did the Burmese work at all points throughout the day that, by the afternoon, their whole line of circumvallation was covered with earthworks; behind which they lay, entirely hidden from sight.

"If they could fight as well as they dig, and build stockades," Sir A. Campbell remarked, "they would be one of the most formidable enemies in the world. No European army ever accomplished the work of entrenching themselves so speedily as they have done. Their arrangements have been admirable. Everything has been done without confusion, and each body has taken up the position allotted to it; as is evident by the fact that there is no gap in their lines.

"As to Bandoola's tactics, I cannot say so much for them. In the first place, he has divided his force into two parts, separated by a river, and incapable of helping each other. In the next place, great as are his numbers, his lines are far too extended.

"Well, we will let them go on for a time; and then show them the mistake that they have committed."

Major Sale's reports of the entrenchments were that they consisted of a long line of holes, each capable of containing two men. The earth was dug out on one side so as to form a sort of cave. In this was a bed of straw or brushwood, on which one man could sleep, while the other watched. Each hole contained a sufficient supply of rice, water, and even fuel for its inmates. One line of these holes had been completed, and another was being dug a short distance in advance.

The Burmese do not relieve their men in the trenches. Those who occupy the line first made remain there. Fresh men dig and occupy the next line, and so the advance is continued, until close to the work to be attacked. The system has the great advantage that a shell falling into one of these holes only kills its two occupants; instead of destroying many, as it might do if it fell in a continuous trench.

In the afternoon the general returned to Rangoon, leaving Stanley at the pagoda, with orders to ride down should there be any change of importance. In the evening a considerable force of Burmese issued from the jungle, and prepared to entrench themselves near the northeast angle of the pagoda hill. Major Piper therefore took two companies of the 38th and, descending the hill, drove the Burmese, in confusion, back to the jungle.

In the morning it was found that the enemy had entrenched themselves upon some high and open ground, within musket shot of the north gate of the pagoda. It was separated from the gate by a large tank; but as their jingals and musketry were able, from the point they occupied, to sweep the plateau and the huts occupied by the troops, a party of the 38th and the 28th Madras Infantry went out, and drove them off. As soon, however, as our troops fell back the Burmese reoccupied the position and, for the next few days, a constant skirmishing went on at this point; while an artillery fire was maintained, by the assailants and defenders, along the whole line down to Rangoon, and the enemy's batteries at Dalla kept up an incessant fire on the shipping. Kemmendine was attacked time after time, and many attempts made to launch fire rafts down the river.

The work was very harassing for the troops. Night and day they were expecting an attack in force; and there was a general feeling of delight when, on the evening of the 4th, orders were issued for a general movement against the enemy.

The latter had, by this time, brought the greater portion of their guns up from the jungle, and placed them in their entrenchments; and it was therefore in the power of the British to strike a heavy blow. A division of the flotilla of gunboats was ordered up the creek by the town. These opened a heavy fire upon the enemy's flank, thus attracting their attention to that point and, after the cannonade had continued for some little time, the two columns of attack—the one eight hundred strong, under Major Sale; the other five hundred, under Major Walker of the Madras army—issued out. The latter was to attack the enemy facing the town, the former to force his way through the centre of their position. He had with him a troop of horse, that had landed only the previous day.

Major Walker's force was the first to encounter the enemy. Their resistance was, for a time, obstinate. Major Walker and several other officers fell, in the attack on the first line of entrenchments; but the soldiers carried it at the point of the bayonet and, as the enemy broke and retreated, followed them so hotly that the works in the rear fell into their hands with but slight opposition.

Major Sale's column now began its attack on the enemy's centre. Here the resistance was more feeble and, bursting through the enemy's lines, the British drove them before them in headlong flight. Then, turning, they swept along the line of entrenchments; carrying all before them until they effected a junction with the other column, which was advancing to meet them. They then drove the Burmese from every part of their works into the jungle, leaving the ground behind them covered with dead and wounded.

Except at the point first attacked by Major Walker, the resistance of the Burmese was very feeble, and the British loss inconsiderable; and a large number of guns, entrenching tools, and muskets fell into the hands of the victors. The next day Bandoola rallied the troops that had been driven from the plain, and gathered the greatest part of his force in the forest round the pagoda, where they continued to push forward their works with unabated energy.

The British had a day of rest given them and, on the 7th, prepared to attack the enemy at this point. Four columns of attack were formed, composed of detachments drawn from all the corps of the army. In the morning a heavy cannonade was opened upon the jungle; the artillery being assisted by several heavy guns which had, with great labour, been brought up by the sailors from the ships to the pagoda. The enemy returned it with a steady fire of light artillery, jingals, and musketry.

While the firing was still going on, the four columns were already in motion. One had entered the jungle on the enemy's left, and another on the right. One of the central columns advanced from the foot of the pagoda hill, while the 38th Regiment descended the stairs from the north gate and advanced, one wing on each side of the tank, against the enemy's entrenchments on the high ground. As the four columns approached the enemy, our artillery fire ceased.

The Burmese appeared, for a moment, bewildered at the sight of their foes advancing against them from so many directions, but they soon opened a very heavy fire upon the assailants; and kept it up with undiminished steadiness until our troops, advancing at the charge, dashed into their entrenchments and drove them headlong before them into the thick forest behind—where pursuit, which would at any time have been difficult, was now impossible; the troops, exhausted by their seven days' and nights' watching, being wholly incapable of following their active and lightly-armed enemies.

There now remained but the force at Dalla to cope with and, in the evening, a force composed of the 89th and 43rd Madras Infantry, under Colonel Parlby, embarked in boats. The night was dark, and the troops crossed unobserved. The alarm was not given until the British actually entered the entrenchments, and opened fire upon the enemy; who were sitting, unsuspicious of danger, round their fires. Scarcely any opposition was encountered, and the whole of the works, with the guns and the stores, were soon in our hands; while the enemy were flying towards the forest.

In the actions during these three days, the Burmese lost some 5000 men, 240 pieces of artillery of every kind, and a great number of muskets and vast supplies of ammunition; while the British had but 50 killed and 300 wounded. Great numbers of Bandoola's men never rejoined the army, and the whole force was dispersed through the country.

Bandoola himself was retiring towards Donabew, with but a remnant of his army, when he met considerable reinforcements on their way to join him. During his operations he had left a reserve corps at the village of Kokein, four miles from the pagoda; and these had been busily entrenching the position, which commanded the road leading from Rangoon to Donabew. The ground was elevated and, on his arrival there, Bandoola set his troops—now some 25,000 in number—to aid in the work. In a marvellously short time the heights were completely stockaded with trunks of trees; and with a broad, deep ditch in front. Beyond this were lines of felled trees, their heads pointing outwards and each branch sharpened—forming a very formidable abattis—and, believing this to be impregnable, Bandoola awaited the attack of the British.

As soon as his army had been dispersed, great numbers of deserters, and of the inhabitants of the villages, poured into Rangoon. With the deserters were mingled a good many of the troops sent in by Bandoola, himself, with instructions to fire the town. In order to lull the suspicions of the British, he caused a report to be spread that an imperial commissioner from the court of Ava would arrive, in the course of a few days, to treat for terms of peace.

The general, however, determined to attack Bandoola before the commissioner could arrive; as it was evident that better terms could be obtained, after the total dispersion of the Burmese, than if their famous general remained, with 25,000 men, in a formidable position close at hand. He was uneasy at the presence of so large a number of natives in the town, and the precautions that had been taken against fire, some time before, were now redoubled. Were one to break out, not only might the whole of the stores collected for the advance of the army be destroyed but, if Bandoola had his force gathered in readiness at the edge of the jungle, he might take advantage of the confusion that would be caused by the fire, and rush forward to the attack of the town.

Numbers of troops, and of sailors from the fleet, patrolled the streets in every direction at night but, in spite of their efforts, a week after the retreat of Bandoola the dreaded cry of fire was raised. At a dozen points, on the windward side of the town, fires had been lighted by incendiaries and, as there was a brisk wind blowing, the danger was extreme. The drums beat to arms along the whole of the British lines. Orders had already been issued as to what was to be done in such an emergency and, while a portion of the troops lined the trenches, the rest were marched at once to the town, and formed up between it and the jungle, to repel any attack that might be made there; leaving the troops quartered in the town, and the sailors of the fleet to battle with the flames.

For a time it seemed as if the whole place would be swept away but, by levelling lines of huts, and beating out the flames at the barrier so formed, their progress was at length checked; but not until more than half the town had been destroyed. Fortunately this was the half farthest from the river and—with the exception of the commissariat stores for the supply of the troops of the Madras Presidency—the buildings containing the food, ammunition, and necessaries for the army escaped unharmed.

What had happened once might, however, happen again, in spite of all precautions. The general therefore determined to attack Bandoola at once as, were his force once scattered, the motive for these incendiary fires would cease to operate.

The difficulties were formidable. One or two light field pieces could, at the most, be taken with the column. They would have to march by a narrow and winding footpath, through a thick forest, exposed at any moment to a desperate attack by the enemy. Moreover, it would be necessary to leave a strong force for the defence of Rangoon, as Bandoola would be sure to learn, from his spies, of the intended movement and, having with him men intimately acquainted with every forest track, could make a rush down upon the town during the absence of so many of its defenders.

The general felt it imperative, however, to attack without delay and, early on the morning of the 15th, he moved out with a force of 1500 men against Kokein. They marched without molestation through the forest and, on reaching its confines, could see the truly formidable nature of the works that they were to attack. The moment they issued from the forest, a dropping fire was opened upon them by parties of the enemy, in flank and rear; and no time was lost in preparing for the assault.

The 13th Light Infantry and the 18th Madras, with 60 cavalry, under Brigadier General Cotton, were ordered to move round the stockade and assault it on the left rear; while the rest of the troops, some 800 strong, with 100 cavalry under the general himself, were to attack in front. The enemy's works consisted of a central entrenchment, connected with two large entrenched stockades on its flank, but somewhat advanced in front of it.

As soon as the force under General Cotton had gained its position in the rear of the enemy, a gun was fired, and the whole force moved forward to the assault.. The Burmans regarded the attack by so insignificant a force upon their works with such contempt that they did not, for some time, fire a shot; but continued chanting a war song, swaying themselves to its cadence, stamping and beating time with their hands on their breasts.

This delay proved fatal to them. When they opened fire, their assailants were already close to the ditch and, leaping down into this, were sheltered from the fire of the defenders. Scaling ladders were speedily placed and the troops, running up them, leaped down into the entrenchment. Astounded at this sudden entry into the works they had deemed impregnable, the Burmese hesitated; and the assailants, being joined by their comrades from behind, rushed impetuously upon the enemy.

The column in the rear had greater difficulty—for they had several strong stockades to carry before they reached the central work—and lost four officers and eight men killed, and forty-nine officers and men wounded, in the 13th Regiment alone. Fifteen minutes after the first shot was fired, the whole of the works were in our possession and the Burmese, who gathered in a confused mass, had been decimated by our volleys. They were now in full flight, many being cut down by the cavalry before they reached the shelter of the woods. The British troops marched back to Rangoon; while the Burmese retreated to Donabew, leaving strong posts on the two rivers leading in that direction.

Their retirement left it free to the country people to return to Rangoon, and very large numbers came in, including very many of the villagers who had been forced to fight against us. All had alike suffered from famine and hardship. Even the women had been compelled to labour in the work of stockading, and the sufferings of all had been terrible. The work of rebuilding the town began at once, and the wooden huts sprang up with great rapidity; markets were opened and, in a short time, supplies of fish, fruit, game, and vegetables poured in; sufficient not only for the native population, but to effect a most welcome change in the diet of the troops.

As most of the natives were accustomed to the construction and management of boats, the work of preparing the flotilla by which the troops were to proceed up the rivers went on rapidly; and numbers of men were hired as servants and drivers for the commissariat—with which the force was very insufficiently supplied, as the natives of India of that class for the most part refused, on account of their caste prejudices, to engage themselves for service across the sea. Reinforcements arrived; and Rangoon, which but six weeks before presented a miserable and deserted appearance was, towards the beginning of January, a cheerful and bustling town.

Preparations were being made in other quarters to assume the offensive. Some 3000 men were driving the Burmese out of Assam; and a force 7000 strong was marching from Sylhet, to expel them from Cachar and capture Manipur; while 11,000 men were assembled at Chittagong, and were advancing into Aracan with the intention of driving the Burmese from that province—and they meant, if possible, to cross the mountains and effect a junction with Sir Archibald Campbell's force. The first part of the operations were conducted with complete success, and Aracan wrested from Burma; but it was found impossible to perform the terrible journey across mountain and swamp, or to afford any aid to the main expedition.

Chapter 10: The Advance.

But while the preparations for the advance were being made, the general's aides-de-camp had been kept at work from morning until night. There were constant communications between the military and naval authorities, for the expedition was to be a mixed one. Transports were daily arriving with troops and stores; innumerable matters connected with the organization, both of the land and water transport, required to be arranged; and the general himself was indefatigable in superintending every detail of the work. It had been settled that the advance could not take place until the second week in February, as the roads would be impassable until that time, and the 11th was fixed for the commencement of operations.

Upon the day after his arrival at Rangoon, Stanley had written a letter to his uncle; giving him a brief account of his adventures, and stating that he had been appointed one of the general's aides-de-camp. He said that he should, of course, be guided by his uncle's wishes; but that now that he had entered on the campaign as an officer, he should certainly like to remain till the end, when he would at once resign his commission and rejoin him.

He sent this to his uncle's agent at Calcutta, but received no answer until the end of December. After expressing his delight at hearing that Stanley had not, as he had supposed, been killed at Ramoo, but was now safe and well in the British camp, he went on:

"I only received your letter this morning, for I have been moving about from point to point and, owing to the falling off of trade, had no occasion to go to Calcutta, until now; and was, indeed, astounded at finding your letter lying for me here, as they had not forwarded it, having no idea where I was, and knowing that the chance of any letter sent on reaching me was extremely small.

"By all means, lad, stop where you are. Trade is improving again for, now that Bandoola's army has marched away from Ramoo, the scare among the natives has pretty well subsided. Still, I can manage very well without you, and it will certainly be a great advantage to you to serve for a year in the army; and to have been one of Campbell's aides-de-camp will be a feather in your cap, and will give you a good position at all the military stations.

"I am very glad, now, that I abstained from writing to your mother after the battle at Ramoo. I thought it over and over, and concluded that it was just as well to leave the matter alone for a time; not that I had the slightest idea, or even a hope, that you were alive, but because I thought that the cessation of letters from you would, to some extent, prepare her mind for the blow, when it came. It would be very improbable that she would see the gazette, with the list of killed and wounded at Ramoo and, even if she did so, she would not associate the death of Ensign Brooke in any way with you. When we have been trading up country, there have been, once or twice, no means of sending off a letter for a couple of months and, therefore, she could not have begun to feel seriously anxious about you before she received your letter from Rangoon.

"Everyone says that you will not be able to advance until February; so that, no doubt, this letter will reach you long before you leave. I hear the losses have been very heavy, from fever; but I am not anxious about you on that score, for I think that you are thoroughly acclimatised. I am trying to get a contract for the supply of a couple of thousand bullocks, for the use of the army; and as I know all the country so well, from Chittagong to Sylhet, and can buy below Indian prices, I think that I shall not only get the contract, but make a very good thing of it, and it may lead to other matters."

After this, Stanley was hardly surprised when, in the last week of January, his uncle walked into his quarters. After the first pleasure of meeting was over, Stanley said:

"I suppose you have got the contract, uncle?"

"I have, lad. I have come down from Ramgur with six dhows, packed full. I have brought a thousand head down and, directly I land them, am going back for the remainder; which will be ready for me by the time I get there.

"I have got hold of an uncommonly good fellow. He was established as a small trader at Chittagong. His business was ruined there, and he was glad to accept my offer of a berth; and he has turned out a very energetic and pushing fellow. He will come down with the next consignment.

"I myself am going to work my way up along the edge of the Tipperah forest; and shall pick up another thousand head, by the time that I get to the Goomtee, and shall send them by water up to Sylhet; and then go up by land, picking up more on the way. I have a contract for five thousand to be sent in, a thousand a month, for the force that is to move against Manipur; while Johnson is to send another two thousand down here. So you see, for the present the store business can wait. It is a good line that I have got into. I shall make a big profit out of it, and have hopes that it will be, to some extent, permanent; for I can get the cattle so cheap in the interior, on the rivers we know, that I can ship them to Calcutta at lower terms than they can buy them in India; and I was as much as told that, if I carried out my present contracts satisfactorily, I should get the supply of the troops there. Of course, that would not be a very great thing of itself but, as I could work it without trouble in connection with my own business, it would make a handsome addition to the profits."

"But how about money, uncle?"

"That is all right, lad. I had no difficulty, whatever, in getting an advance at Calcutta, on the strength of my contract and upon the guarantee of my agents; so that I am all right, in that respect."

"I asked, uncle, because I can let you have eighteen hundred pounds, if you want them."

Tom Pearson looked at him in astonishment.

"Why, what on earth have you been doing—robbing the treasury of the King of Ava?"

"No, uncle. I had a bag of gems given me, by some Burmese bandits. When I got down here, I took a few of them to a merchant. He advanced fifteen hundred rupees on them, and sent them to Burragee, the jeweller at Madras and, six weeks afterwards, he paid me another three thousand five hundred. I sent up another batch and, last week, I got an order from the jewellers for fifteen hundred pounds; so that I have more than eighteen hundred in hand now, and I don't think that I have sent more than a third of the gems away."

"Well, that is a piece of luck, Stanley! Why on earth did the brigands give you the gems?"

"Well, uncle, they are things that, from what they told me, there is great difficulty and risk in trying to dispose of. They are a royal monopoly, and nobody dare buy them or, if they do, will give next to nothing for them; because of the risk of the transaction, and because they know that the vendors are in a fix, and must sell. Besides, there is a strong chance of their handing over anyone who offers such things to the authorities. That was one reason why they gave them to me. Then, too, they had made a good haul of merchandise which was, to them, a great deal more valuable, as there was no difficulty in disposing of it. Lastly, they had taken a fancy to me, because I saved one of their comrade's lives—the man who showed you up here."

"Well, lad, you shall tell me all about it, this evening. I must be going down to the commissariat yard, to arrange the landing of my beasts. I came straight to see you, directly I landed. We dropped anchor here at daybreak."

"I will go with you, uncle. I will run in and see the chief, first, and get leave off for the day. I have earned a holiday, for I have been at work pretty well morning, noon, and night for the last two months. You see, I have not only the duties of aide-de-camp, but of interpreter; and have helped both the quartermaster's department and the commissariat in making their arrangements with the natives. I daresay I shall be able to help to hurry your business on, quicker than you would be able to get it done, alone."

The general at once granted Stanley leave, and he went with his uncle down to the commissariat office, and introduced him to the senior officer.

"We shall be glad to do all in our power to help you, Mr. Pearson," the officer said. "We have been expecting your arrival for the last week. Of course, we heard from Calcutta that you had the contract for two thousand head; at least half of these were to be delivered by the tenth of February. We were getting rather anxious about it. The force will probably want to start, before that time; and we shall have to victual both the land and water columns. Of course, I did not know that you were a relation of Mr. Brooke, or I should have mentioned to him that you were likely to come."

"I should like to get off as soon as possible," Tom Pearson said; "for by the time that I get back to Ramgur, the rest of the cattle will be in readiness for me."

"I will write you an order for four large boats, at once. If you had come three weeks sooner, you might have been kept waiting some days; but such a number of native craft have, of late, come down the rivers that we are enabled to get sufficient for our work."

The officer gave him a note to the one in charge of the landing arrangements.

"It is lucky that you have come just at this moment," the latter said. "We have just made our last trip with the baggage of the 47th, and I have six boats disengaged. You may as well take them all."

The craft in question were some of those that had been captured—unwieldy craft, that took fish and salt up the river. They were almost as large as the dhows in which the cattle had been brought down, but drew very much less water. They were towed off to the dhows, one by one, by two captured war canoes, each having thirty rowers. One was taken to each dhow, and the work of transhipping the cattle began at once. These were in good condition for, although closely packed, they had been well supplied with food and water on the way down; and a herdsman with four men under him had been sent, in each boat, to take care of them, as Tom Pearson was very anxious that his first consignment should be reported upon favourably. The animals were all landed in the course of the afternoon and, with the acknowledgment of their receipt, in excellent order, in his pocket, the contractor went off again, with Stanley, to his own dhow.

"I have told them to have everything in readiness to drop down the river with the tide, tomorrow morning. It will turn just about sunrise. That is a rare bit of business, Stanley; and I doubt if a contractor ever got his work through so quickly, before. Of course, it is principally due to you. They would never have pushed things through so quickly, had you not gone with me. I thought that very likely I might be detained here a week, before I could get all the cattle on shore—and by that time, if all goes well, I shall be at Ramgur again.

"Now we can have a comfortable evening's talk, which is very much better than my going to dine with you at mess; for there is a great deal to hear about, and I daresay that I can give you as good a dinner as we should have had, on shore."

"A good deal better," Stanley said. "Things have improved immensely, during the last month; still our mess cook is certainly not so good as your man and, at any rate, the quiet of your cabin makes a very pleasant change, after always sitting down with a large party."

After dinner was over, Stanley gave a full account of his adventures, from the time that he was taken prisoner.

"You have done wonderfully well for yourself, lad; wonderfully well. Certainly when you picked up Burmese from my man, we had no idea that it was ever likely to turn out so useful. I thought that it would have been an assistance among the Mugs on the coast; and I had, too, some idea that the war might lead to the opening of a trade up the Irrawaddy; but it has turned out infinitely more useful than that. If you could not have spoken Burmese, Bandoola would never have thought of asking for you to be spared as an interpreter and, if he had not done so, you would have had your head chopped off, at Ava.

"Of course that leopard business was the turning point of your fortunes but, though it has turned out so well, I must say that I hardly think that you were justified in risking your life in such a desperate act for a native; who might, for aught you know, be already dead. Of course, it was a most gallant action; but the betting was ten to one against your succeeding. However, as it turned out, it was a fortunate business, altogether. I don't say that you might not have made your way down to Rangoon, unaided; but the odds would have been very heavily against it. However, these rubies were a windfall, indeed."

"Will you take the rest of them, uncle, and sell them at Calcutta—or shall I send them to Madras, or home to England?"

"I will take them with me to Calcutta, if you like, Stanley. I don't say that there are better men there than the one you sent to, at Madras; but I think some of them do a larger business up-country with the native princes, who don't care what they give for good gems. At any rate, I will take them there and get them valued by an expert; and then try two or three of the leading firms, and get their offers. If these are as high as the value put on them by the expert, I would send them to England, through my agents, who would do the best they could for you."

"For us, uncle. Of course, it is all in the partnership business. You have just got some contracts that will pay well and, while you have been doing that, I have been getting hold of these rubies."

"I don't think that that is fair, Stanley," his uncle said, gravely.

"It seems to me perfectly fair; and besides, the money put into the business will make a lot of difference, and will certainly pay me a great deal better than it would in any other way. I sent home 100 pounds for my mother, directly the money came from Calcutta; and told her that I hoped to be able to send home at least as much, every year."

"A good deal more, lad, if you like. I calculate these contracts that I have got will bring in a pound a head so that, by the time that the war is over, I hope to have cleared 8000 pounds, which will be about what you will make by your rubies; and when trade begins again, we shall be in a position to do it on a big scale. But I still think that it will not be fair to take that money."

"Well, uncle, if you won't take it, I certainly won't have anything to do with the money that you make, while I am away; so please don't let us say anything more about it. Shall I give you that eighteen hundred now; or will you have an order upon the paymaster, in Calcutta?"

"That would be the best way, if you will have it so, lad. I have left money with Johnson, at Ramgur, for the next herd that is to come down here; and have orders from my agent on their agents, at Dalla, for those that I am going to buy for the Manipur column. So I don't want the money now and, suppose the dhow were to be lost going up, the cash might go with it. So, do you get the order. You had better send it straight to Bothron; and tell him to collect it, and credit it to my account.

"How long do you think that this business is going to last?"

"It depends how far we have to go before the Burmese decide that they have had enough of it. At present, the general hope is that, as soon as we arrive at Prome, they will give in. If they don't we may have to go up to Ava and, in that case, we may not finish it until this time next year; for I suppose operations will have to come to a stop, when the wet season begins again, and we could hardly reach Ava before that."

"I expect, some day, we shall have to take the whole country, Stanley. You may frighten the court into submission, when you approach the capital; but I fancy they will never keep to the terms that we shall insist upon, and that there will have to be another expedition. That is generally our way—it was so at Mysore, it has been so in a dozen other places. When we have done all the work, and have got them at our mercy, we give them comparatively easy terms. As soon as they recover from the effects of their defeat, they set to work again to prepare for another tussle; and then we have all the expense and loss of life to incur, again, and then end by annexing their territory, which we might just as well have done in the first place. It may be all very well to be lenient, when one is dealing with a European enemy; but magnanimity does not pay when you have to do with Orientals, who don't care a rap for treaty engagements, and who always regard concessions as being simply a proof of weakness.

"There would not be half the difficulty in annexing Burma that there would be, in the case of a large province in India; for all the towns, and most even of their villages, lie on rivers, and a couple of dozen gunboats would suffice to keep the whole country in order. You will see that that is what we shall have to do, some day; but it will cost us two or three expeditions to do what might just as well be done, now."

"Well, uncle, it is nearly twelve o'clock and, as I shall be on duty at six, I think I had better be going. I wish that you could have stayed for another two or three days, and paid a visit to the pagoda and camps. I am very glad that I have had a sight of you again, though it's a very short one."

"I should be glad to stay another day or two, Stanley; but it is really of importance for me to get down to Ramgur, as soon as I can, and send Johnson off with the cattle; for I want to set about buying the herds for the other column, as quickly as possible. I think I have left myself a fair margin of time, but there is nothing like promptitude in delivery, and I want to get a good name, for future business; and if this affair here is going to last another twelve-month, regular supplies must be sent up for, as beef is forbidden by the Burmese religion, they keep no cattle except for draught purposes, and the army must get their bullocks by sea."

Five minutes later Stanley was rowed ashore. The next morning he accompanied the general, and went down to inspect the newly-arrived cattle.

"They are a capital lot," he said to Stanley, "decidedly the best that we have had, yet. You see, it is a good deal shorter voyage, from Ramgur, than from either Calcutta or Madras; and the animals probably had a much shorter land journey before they were shipped. Then, too, as your uncle came down himself they were, no doubt, much better looked after than usual on the voyage. However, I will take care to mention, when I write next to Calcutta, that the cattle are far above the average; and I shall be glad if they will arrange for such further supplies as we may require from the same source."

"Thank you, sir; that will be a great help to my uncle. Hitherto he has had very uphill work of it; though he was beginning to get on very well, when the war put a stop to trade. He knows the whole country so thoroughly that he can certainly buy up cattle at many places where no European trader, save himself, has ever penetrated."

"No doubt, Brooke; and I hope, for your sake, that he will succeed well in this contracting business. He has certainly made an excellent start and, as he is first in the field in the country between Assam and Ramgur, he ought to make a good thing of this opportunity that has fallen in his way. I know that it takes a long time to build up a business but, when the foundation is laid, and a man is quick in taking advantage of an opportunity, he can do as much in a year as he might do in twenty, without it.

"Now, I am going over to the lines of the 47th, to see how they have shaken down into them."

This regiment had brought out tents for, as every building was already occupied, it was necessary that they should be put under canvas. The general found that everything was arranged in order, and the encampment certainly presented a pleasing contrast to the irregular, and often crowded quarters of the troops who had passed the wet season there. The colonel and three of his officers dined with the general, that evening; the party being made up of the military staff, including the two aides-de-camp.

Two days later Stanley, with some of the other members of the staff, dined at the 47th mess. Stanley was introduced to several of the officers; and these were specially desirous of making his acquaintance, as they had learned that he had been a prisoner at Ava, and could therefore tell them much more than they had hitherto learned of the country into which they were about to advance.

Among them was a young lieutenant, also of the name of Brooke. Stanley had, three weeks before, attained the same rank. At the time that he was appointed to the 83rd, there were already several death vacancies in the regiment, and disease and fighting had carried off six more officers. The whole of the ensigns had consequently obtained their step. At dinner he found himself placed next to his namesake.

"It is curious, our having the same name," the other remarked, as he sat down. "It is not a very common one."

"No, I have not met anyone of the same name, before," Stanley said. "Indeed, until the affair at Ramoo I was nearly three years trading with an uncle of mine, up the rivers; and was not much in the way of falling in with white men. But, before that, I had been with my father in a good many stations in India; but I do not, as far as I can remember, recollect meeting anyone of the same name."

"Then your father was in the service, too?"

"Yes. He was a captain in the 15th Native Infantry."

"Indeed," the other said in surprise, "then we are connections. But I had no idea that Captain Brooke was ever married."

"He was married just after he came out to India," Stanley said; "so it is likely enough that you would never have heard of it. He died three years ago, and my mother and sisters are now in England. What is the connection between us? I have never heard my father speak much of his family."

"Your father was a cousin of mine—second cousin, I think. I fancy there was some row between your grandfather and the rest of the family. I don't know anything about the right or wrongs of it; for it was, of course, many years before we were born; and I never heard of your father's existence, until a fortnight before I left England. Then there were some inquiries made about the family, owing to various deaths that took place in it. Do you know that your father was related—distantly of course—to the Earl of Netherly?"

"I do remember his mentioning it, once. I know he said that it was a distant connection; and that he knew nothing, whatever, about the earl or his family."

"Well, curiously enough, it is not so distant, now," the other said. "I was a pretty distant connection of his. He was childless; and the family, generally, don't seem to have been prolific. A good many of them died; and the result was that, the year before I left England, an uncle of mine succeeded to the title. He has no son, and my father was his next brother. My father died, two years ago; and the result is that, to my astonishment, I found that I was next heir to the title. They wanted me to leave the army, when my regiment was ordered out to India; but of course I was not going to do that, for my aunt may die, and my uncle marry again and have children. Besides, I was not going to leave, anyhow, just as the regiment was ordered abroad, and might see service.

"However, there was a great hunting by the lawyers in the genealogical tree; and I know it was decided that, in case anything happened to me, your father would have been the next heir, had he been alive. I don't know whether any further inquiries were made, or whether they ever ascertained that he had married. I don't suppose there were for, of course, as long as I live the matter is of no importance.

"So that, as things stand now, if a Burmese bullet puts an end to my career, you are the next heir to the title."

"You surprise me, indeed," Stanley said. "From the way my father spoke of the matter, I am sure that he had not the slightest idea there was any likelihood, whatever, that he would have any chance of succeeding to the title."

"That I can well imagine, for it was not until a few years ago, when the deaths of several who stood between him and the succession occurred, that my uncle regarded his coming into it as a matter worth thinking about; and of course all our family stood between it and your father. However, as you see we have dwindled away and, if I do not get safely through this business, you are the next heir."

"It is curious news to hear, at a dinner in Burma," Stanley said, thoughtfully. "At any rate, I can assure you honestly that the news gives me no particular satisfaction. I suppose it would be a nice thing, to come in for a peerage; but my prospects out here are good. I have no intention of staying in the army, after the end of the war; and am really in partnership with my uncle, with whom I have been for the last three years in business, which is turning out very well. I like the life, and have every chance of making enough to retire on, with ample means. Certainly, I should not like to come into the title by the death of anyone that I knew."

"That is the fortune of war," the other said, smiling. "We get our steps by death vacancies. We are sorry for the deaths, but the steps are not unwelcome.

"By the way, my name is Harry. I know that yours is Stanley. I vote that we call each other by them. We are cousins, you know, and I suppose that as you are my heir, you must be my nearest male relation, at present; so I vote that we call each other by our Christian names, instead of Brookeing each other, always."

"I shall be very glad to do so," Stanley said, cordially. "I hope that we shall be close friends, as well as distant relations."

Then, as there was a momentary lull in the conversation, Harry raised his voice and said to the colonel:

"A very curious thing has just happened, Colonel. Brooke and myself have just discovered that we are cousins and, what is still more curious, that if anything happens to me, he takes my place as next heir to my uncle, a fact of which he was entirely ignorant."

"That is certainly a very curious coincidence, Brooke; very singular. Then you have not met before?"

"I did not even know of his existence, Colonel; and had, indeed, no idea that Captain Brooke, his father, had been married. The cousinship is a distant one; but there is no question, whatever, as to his being next in succession to myself to the peerage."

The discovery excited general interest; and quite turned the conversation, for the time, from the subject of the war and of their approaching advance. After dinner was finished, many of the officers gathered round Stanley, asking him questions about the nature of the country, and his experiences as a captive in the hands of the Burmese. Presently Colonel Adair, who had also dined at the mess, joined the group.

"I suppose, Mr. Brooke," he said, "your newly-found cousin has told you about his adventure with the leopard?"

"No, Colonel, he has not said anything about a leopard."

"He is grievously afflicted with modesty," the colonel went on; "and so I will tell it for him, for I think you ought to know that he is not only able to speak half a dozen languages, but that he is capable of doing deeds of exceptional gallantry.

"You can go and chat with the colonel, Brooke. He is anxious to hear your report as to the country, and I will be your trumpeter here."

Stanley gladly moved away, and entered into conversation with the colonel of the 47th; while Colonel Adair related his adventures with the leopard to his cousin, and the officers standing round.

"By Jove, that was a plucky thing!" Harry Brooke said, admiringly.

"It was, indeed!" the colonel agreed, as similar exclamations went round the circle. "I don't think one man in a hundred would have attacked a leopard with no weapon but a knife, except to save the life of a comrade; even then, it would be a most desperate action. I have done a good deal of big-game shooting, in India; but I am certain that nothing but a strong affection, for a comrade in the grasp of a leopard, would induce me to risk almost certain death in the way your cousin did. We should never have heard of it, if we had not got the details from the man he saved, and who has since attached himself to him as a servant; and is the man who, as I daresay he did tell you, served as his companion and guide in making his way down here. At any rate you see, Brooke, your cousin is an uncommonly fine young fellow, and you have reason to be proud of the relationship."

"I feel so, Colonel; and it is really a pleasure to know that, if one does go down, a thoroughly good fellow will benefit by it, instead of some unknown person who might be a very objectionable representative of the family."

For the next three or four days, the bustle of preparations went on and, on the fifth, a detachment was sent up, with a sloop and gunboats, to attack an advanced position of the enemy on the Lyne river. Although the 3000 Burmese, who were posted in a strong stockade, were supported by thirty-six guns; the works were carried by storm, with little loss.

The two branches of the Pellang (or Rangoon) river, by which the force were to advance against Donabew were, on the following day, reconnoitred for some distance. A number of fire rafts were destroyed, but the Burmese were too disheartened to offer any resistance.

To the disappointment of the troops, the general was able to take with him only a limited force; for the difficulties of carriage were enormous and, as experience had shown that the country was likely to be deserted, and devastated, on their approach; it was, therefore, impossible for the bulk of the army to be taken on, by land. There were other points, however, where the troops left behind could be profitably employed. The capture of the important town of Bassein, on the main branch of the Irrawaddy, would open the river to the passage of our ships, and put an entire stop to the trade of Ava.

The force told off for the advance against Donabew was divided into two columns. The first, 2400 strong—consisting of the 38th, 41st, and 47th Regiments, three native battalions, the troop of bodyguard; a battery of Bengal horse artillery, and part of the rocket company—was to march by land.

The second column, which was to proceed by water, was 1169 strong; and it consisted of the 89th Regiment, the 10th Madras Europeans, and 250 of the 18th Native Infantry; a body of dismounted artillery, and the rest of the rocket company. This force was commanded by Brigadier General Cotton. It was to be carried in a flotilla of sixty-two boats, each armed with one or two guns; and the boats of all the ships of war at Rangoon, under the command of Captain Alexander, R. N.

Major Sale was, at the same time, to advance against Bassein; with 600 men of the 13th Regiment, and the 12th Madras Native infantry, with some artillery. After occupying the town, he was to cross the country lying between the two main arms of the Irrawaddy, and to join the general's force near Donabew.

The rest of the force—nearly 4000 men, chiefly native regiments and Europeans who had not, as yet, recovered sufficient strength to take part in field operations—was to remain at Rangoon, under Brigadier General M'Creigh; who was to form a reserve column, in readiness to move as directed, as soon as sufficient transport was collected.

It was to the water force that the capture of Donabew was intrusted, as it lay upon the opposite bank of the Irrawaddy; while the general's force was directed against Tharawa, at the junction of the two main branches of the river. Here they were to be joined by General Cotton's force, after the capture of Donabew; then, unless the court of Ava sued for peace, a united advance was to be made on the important town of Prome.

Chapter 11: Donabew.

Stanley Brooke did not accompany the land column, as the general said to him, two days before:

"I have been speaking with General Cotton, and he said that he should be glad if I would attach you to his staff, until the force unites again. Not one of his staff officers speaks Burmese and, although he has two or three interpreters with him, it will be better, if Bandoola sends in an officer offering to surrender, that he should be met by a British officer.

"In the next place, it may be necessary for him to communicate with me and, assuredly, with your experience of the country, you would be able to get through better than anyone else. I do not apprehend that there would be any great danger, for we know that every available fighting man has been impressed, by Bandoola; and the passage of our column will completely cow the villagers lying between us and the river.

"I suppose," he said, with a smile, "that you have no objection, since it will save you a long and, I have no doubt, a very unpleasant march; and you will also obtain a view of the affairs at the stockades at Pellang and Donabew."

The land column started on the 13th of February, the water column on the 16th, and the detachment for Bassein sailed on the following day. Stanley was delighted at being appointed to accompany the boat column. The march through the country would present no novelty to him, and it was probable that the land column would encounter no serious resistance until, after being joined by General Cotton's force, it advanced against Prome. His horses went, with those of General Cotton and his staff, under charge of the syce and Meinik.

The one steamboat kept, at the start, in rear of the great flotilla of boats so that, in case of any of them striking on a sandbank, it could at once move to her assistance, and pull her off. The scene was a very bright one as, in all, upwards of a hundred craft, of various sizes, proceeded together. In front were half a dozen gunboats; next to these came the two sloops of war; followed by the rest of the boats, proceeding in irregular order. There was very little stream, for the rivers were now quite low and, although the flat country was still little more than a swamp, the rains in the hills that supplied the main body of water to them had long since ceased. The ships' boats were, of course, rowed by the blue-jackets. The other craft were, for the most part, manned by natives; though the soldiers on board occasionally lent a hand.

Two days after starting, the boats destroyed three newly-erected stockades, that were found unoccupied; and on the 19th reached Pellang, where three very strong stockades had been erected. A battery was thrown up next day from which, as well as from the steamboat and sloops of war, shells were thrown into the stockade; with such effect that two of the enemy's works were evacuated, as soon as the troops took the offensive, and the main Pellang stockade was also abandoned, without resistance. The two smaller works were destroyed, and a portion of the 18th Madras Infantry was left here, to maintain communication with Rangoon.

On the 27th the flotilla entered the main stream and, the next day, the advance came in sight of Donabew. It was another five days before the whole force was in position, for several of the most heavily laden craft stuck fast on the sandbanks at the fork of the river. The next day Donabew was summoned to surrender. Bandoola, who was at the head of 15,000 men, returned a refusal; which was given in courteous terms, differing very widely from the haughty and peremptory language in which all previous communications had been couched.

The next day a party of the 89th landed on the low-lying ground between the main stockade and the river and, in spite of the heavy fire, succeeded in ascertaining the strength and nature of the defences. The main work was in the form of a parallelogram, about a mile long, and stood on ground rising above the general level; and fifty pieces of cannon, of various sizes, were in position on the river face. Two outworks, constructed of square beams of timber, with an outer ditch and a thick abbatis, defended the southern face against an attack from an enemy landing below it.

It was necessary to leave a strong guard on board the flotilla, lest an attack should be made by war canoes and fire rafts. The general, therefore, had not more than 600 men available for the assault. As the enemy's guns completely commanded the river, it was necessary to land below it; and on the morning of the 7th the troops were disembarked, with two six-pounder guns and a rocket detachment. Forming in two columns, they advanced against the lower of the two covering stockades and, after an exchange of fire with the enemy, rushed forward and forced an entrance into it; although the enemy resisted with more resolution than they had, for some time, shown. 280 prisoners were taken, and the rest of the defenders fled to the second work.

Two more guns and four mortars were landed and placed in position and, after the stockades had been shelled for a short time, a storming party—under Captain Rose—advanced to the assault. So heavy a fire was opened upon them that the little column was brought to a standstill, and forced to fall back; with the loss of its commander, and of Captain Cannon of the 89th, while most of the seamen with the storming party were either killed or wounded.

This want of success, against a mere outwork, showed General Cotton that—with the small force at his disposal—it would be worse than useless to renew the attack for, were the outwork carried, the loss would be so great that it would be hopeless to think of attacking Bandoola's main position. He therefore determined to abstain from further attack, until reinforced.

"Now, Mr. Brooke," he said, as soon as the troops had been taken on board the boats again, "I must bring your services into requisition. This is just the contingency that we thought might possibly occur. I cannot advance up the river until Donabew is taken, and I cannot attack the place with the force at my command. Therefore I will at once write a despatch to General Campbell, for you to carry. You will be accompanied by the two men of the bodyguard, who have come with me as orderlies. I shall have no use for them, here; and three of you, together, need not fear any molestation from the few people remaining in their villages, and may be able to cut your way through any of the bands of deserters, or beaten troops, dispersed over the country."

"Very well, General. I shall also take my Burman, on my second charger. He may be useful in getting news as to roads from the natives; who will, as likely as not, fly into the jungle when they see us approaching. However, there is not much fear of our losing our way, as it will be along the river, as far as Tharawa."

A boat was at once sent off to the craft carrying the two orderlies and the horses of the staff. As soon as the despatch was written, Stanley, after shaking hands with his companions, was also rowed to the horse barge. This was, at a signal of the general, taken in tow by the steamer, and piloted to the opposite bank. A boat, sounding ahead, presently found a spot where there was enough water for the barge to get alongside the bank. The horses were led ashore; and Stanley, the two troopers, and Meinik mounted.

The Burmese are poor riders but, during the wet season, Stanley had often taken Meinik, on his spare horse, when riding about in the camp; partly because he could trust him to look after the horses carefully, and in the second place to accustom him to ride on horseback so as to act, if required, as an orderly. Meinik was quite of opinion that there would be no risk, whatever, in passing through villages; but thought it probable that they might fall in with disbanded troops, as it was known that the land column had, soon after starting, captured the fort of Mophi; and that its garrison, between two and three thousand strong, had taken to the jungle and dispersed.

"Still, master," he said, "I don't think it likely that they will attack us. They will be expecting no one, and we shall come upon them by surprise; then they will run into the bushes, thinking that you must have many more troops behind you. No, it is not likely that they will have many guns; they would throw them away when they fled, partly to run faster through the forest, partly because most of them will be making off to the villages, hoping to lie concealed until the war is over; while if they had guns in their hands, it would be known that they were deserters, and they might be seized and sent across the river to Bandoola, or up to Prome."

They rode some fifteen miles before dark, and then took up their quarters in a village. The few old men, women, and children inhabiting it fled, at their approach; but when Meinik went to the edge of the jungle, and shouted out loudly that they need not fear, for that no harm would be done to any of them, and good prices would be given for food, two or three returned and, finding the statements to be true, one of them went into the jungle again, and brought the others back. Fowls and eggs were brought into the hut that Stanley occupied, and a good supply of grain for the horses was also purchased. Thus, Stanley was able to avoid breaking into the small stock of provisions they had brought with them.

The inhabitants of this part of Burma were a tribe known as Carians. They were the tillers of the soil, and were an industrious and hardy race. The country was so rich that they not only raised sufficient for their own wants, but sent large supplies of grain and rice to Ava. They were very heavily taxed but, as a rule, were exempt from conscription. Nevertheless they had, on the present occasion, been forced to labour at the stockades, and in transporting food for the troops.

Their forest villages were small. They consisted of little huts, erected either in trees shorn of their branches, or upon very strong poles. These abodes were only accessible by rough ladders, formed by nailing pieces of wood across the trees or poles. This was absolutely necessary, on account of the number of tigers that infested the forest. The village where they had halted was, however, built upon the ground; but was surrounded by a strong stockade. The people assured Stanley that none of the fugitives from Mophi had come that way.

There had, they said, been many, after Bandoola's defeat; but they had seen none, of late. They declared that they had far greater fear of these than they had of the English; for that they plundered wherever they went and, if they could not obtain enough to satisfy their expectations, burnt the houses, and often killed many of the inhabitants. The villagers volunteered to keep watch all night, at the gate of the stockade; although they said that there was no fear of anyone approaching, as strangers could not find their way through the forest, in the dark and, even could they do so, the fear of tigers would prevent them from making the attempt. Stanley agreed to pay some of them to watch, but also stationed one of his own men as sentry, relieving him every three hours.

An hour after they reached the village, they saw one of the war boats rowing rapidly up the stream; and had no doubt that it was bearing a message from Bandoola, saying that he had repulsed the attack of the British. Beyond hearing the howling of tigers in the forest, Stanley passed the night undisturbed, except when he went to change the sentry. Meinik took his share of watching; and Stanley, himself, relieved him an hour before daybreak.

By the time the sun rose, the horses had been fed and breakfast taken. After riding some miles, the country became more open. Cultivated fields succeeded the dense forest. The ground was higher, and little groups of huts could be seen, wherever a small elevation rose above the general level. The change was very welcome, for they were able to travel faster, and there was less chance of their coming suddenly upon a party of the disbanded troops.

Presently, just as they reached a larger village than usual, by the river bank, a thick smoke arose from one of the houses, and they could hear female screams.

"Come on!" Stanley shouted, to the three men riding behind him. "See that your pistols are ready to hand, and draw your swords."

This village was not, like the last, stockaded; being some miles away from the forest. As they dashed into it, they saw some twenty Burmese. Two women lay dead, in front of one house; and one of the men, with a torch, was about to fire another. Absorbed in their own doings, the Burmese did not notice the coming of the horsemen until the latter were close to them. Then, with a cry of consternation, they turned to fly; but it was too late. Stanley cut down the man who was about to fire the hut, and he and the others then fell upon the Burmans, with sword and pistol. Six of them were killed. The rest were pursued but, dashing down to the river, they plunged in, pistol shots being sent after them.

Stanley remained on the bank, until he saw that they had fairly started to cross the river, then he re-entered the village. Two or three frightened people came out from their hiding places, when Meinik shouted to them that all was safe.

"They have all gone," he said, "you need not fear being disturbed by them again. See, there are six guns lying in the road; and you will find plenty of ammunition on those fellows that have fallen. There are some spears and swords, too. Of course, you can do nothing if a number of these fellows come; but if there are only two or three, you and the women ought to be able to dispose of them. Now we must ride on."

On the third day they arrived at Tharawa, and found that Sir A. Campbell, who had been assured by the natives that Bandoola had retreated, had continued his march the day before. The place was so large that Stanley thought it unsafe for them to sleep there, and they rode on to a little village, two miles away. Here they were received with great deference, the passage of the troops the day before having profoundly impressed the villagers. After waiting three hours to rest the horses, they again mounted and, riding all night, arrived in the morning at Yuadit—a village twenty-six miles from Tharawa—and found the force on the point of starting.

"No bad news, I hope, Mr. Brooke?" the general said, as he rode up to him.

"I am sorry to say, sir, that my news is not good. Here is the brigadier's despatch."

"This is unfortunate, indeed," the general said, when he had run his eye over the document.

"Mr. Tollemache, please to ride along the line, and say that the column is not to get into motion until further orders."

Colonel Adair and the other officers of the staff had been on the point of mounting, when Stanley rode up. The general called two or three of the senior officers to him.

"Cotton can neither take Donabew, nor get past it," he said. "Here is his despatch. You see, he has lost several officers and a good many men; and that in the assault on an outlying work, only. I am afraid that there is nothing for us to do, but go back to his assistance."

"I am afraid not, sir," Colonel Adair said. "Our supplies are running short already and, you see, we decided upon filling up all the carts at Tharawa, where we made sure that we should be met by the boats. The country round here has been completely stripped, and it would be a very serious matter to endeavour to advance to Prome, without supplies. Moreover, we might expect a much more serious resistance than we have bargained for. The news that Bandoola has repulsed his assailants—and you may be sure that this has been exaggerated into a great victory—will restore the spirit of the Burmese. It is evident that we must turn back, and finish off with Bandoola before we advance further."

Orders were accordingly sent, to the officers commanding the various corps, that the column was to retrace its steps and, while they passed through the village, Stanley related, in much greater detail than had been given in the despatch, the events of the attack, and the nature of the defences at Donabew.

The troops marched along with a cheerful mien. It was, of course, an annoyance to have to plod back along the road they had before traversed but, upon the other hand, there was a general satisfaction that they were, after all, to take part in the capture of Bandoola's last stronghold.

Colonel Adair rode on with the little troop of cavalry. He was to push forward to Tharawa, and was to offer rewards to the natives there for every boat brought in. There was little doubt that many of the fishermen had hauled up their craft into clumps of bushes and brush wood, to prevent their being requisitioned by Bandoola and, although it was not likely that a large number would now be obtained, yet even if but a dozen were found, it would be of assistance.

The rest of the force reached Tharawa on the following evening, with the exception of a party left to protect the slow-moving waggons. They found that nine canoes had been obtained, and that a considerable portion of the scanty population had been, all day, employed in cutting bamboos and timber for rafts.

The next morning the troops were all engaged on the same work, and in the construction of rafts; and at nightfall three hundred men of the 49th were taken across the river to the town of Henzada, in case Bandoola, on hearing of the preparations for crossing, should send a force to oppose the passage. It took four days' continuous labour to get the little army across, as it was necessary to make large timber rafts to carry the carts, horses and bullocks, guns and stores.

Hearing that a force was posted, some fifteen miles away, to intercept the detachment that was marching from Bassein; Colonel Godwin, with a party, was sent off that night to endeavour to surprise it. The Burmese, however, took the alarm before they were attacked; and scattered in all directions, without firing a shot. The army marched along the right bank, and arrived before Donabew on the 25th of March. Communications were opened with General Cotton's force, below the town; and both divisions set to work to erect batteries.

The Burmese made several sorties to interrupt the work, and one of these was accompanied by Bandoola's seventeen elephants. The troop of cavalry, horse artillery, and the rocket company charged close up to the elephants; and opened fire upon the howdahs, filled with troops, that they carried. In a short time most of these and the drivers were killed; and the elephants—many of which also had received wounds—dashed off into the jungle, while the infantry fled back into the stockade, into which a discharge of shells and rockets was maintained, all day.

The next morning—the 1st of April—the mortar batteries were completed; and these, and others armed with light guns, kept up a continuous fire into the enemy's camp. At daybreak on the 2nd, the heavy guns of the breaching batteries also opened fire and, in a very short time, the enemy were seen pouring out in the rear of their works, and making their way into the jungle. As there had been no idea that they would so speedily evacuate the stockade, no preparations had been made for cutting them off; and the garrison, therefore, effected their escape with but little loss.

The troops at once occupied the work, and found large stores of grain and ammunition there, as well as a great number of guns. From some of the wounded Burmans, it was ascertained that the evacuation of the fort was due to the death of Bandoola; who had been killed, by the explosion of a shell, while watching the operations from a lookout that had been erected for him, at the top of a lofty tree. His death had caused the most profound depression among the garrison. Their leaders in vain endeavoured to reanimate their courage. The opening of the fire with the heavy guns completed their discomfiture, and they fled without thought of resistance. Indeed, the greater part had stolen away during the night.

A portion of the fleet had already passed up beyond the fort, under a heavy fire; and the rest now came up. The supplies of grain were renewed and, a guard being left to hold the works, which would now serve as a base, the army again started up the river—the water column proceeding to Tharawa, the land force marching back to Henzada, whence they were carried across the river in the boats. Here the force was joined by the reserve column from Rangoon, consisting of several companies of the Royals and the 28th Native Infantry, with a supply of elephants and carriage cattle which had arrived from Calcutta.

On the 14th, Yuadit was again reached. No opposition, whatever, was encountered; indeed, the whole country was deserted, the inhabitants having been ordered away by the Burmese authorities, as soon as the fall of Donabew was known. When within four days' march of Prome, two native officials came in, with a communication to the effect that the Burmese were ready to treat for peace. As it was known, however, that reinforcements were on their way down from Ava, it was evident that this was merely a pretext to gain time; and the general sent word that, when he arrived at Prome, he would be ready to open negotiations for peace.

The country through which the army was now passing was very beautiful. In the far distance on the left, the mountains of Aracan could be seen; while on the right the country was undulating, richly cultivated, and broken by clumps of timber, with a background of the range of hills running along near the Pegu river. On the 24th the heights of Prome, eight miles away, were visible; and the flotilla could be seen, lying at anchor a short distance below the town. Messengers came out that afternoon, to endeavour to induce the general not to enter it; but a reply was sent that this was out of the question, that no harm would befall the inhabitants, and that—as soon as he entered—the general would be ready to receive any persons qualified to treat for peace.

Some hours before daybreak the army marched forward and, by sunrise, were close to the town. The position was found to be extremely strong. Every hill commanding the place had been fortified, to the very summit. Strong stockades ran in every direction, and it was evident that a great number of men must have been engaged, for a long time, in attempting to render the place impregnable.

Not a soldier, however, was to be found. A native of the place presently met them, with the news that the governor and troops had evacuated it, with the exception of a small party who were firing the town. This story was corroborated by wreaths of smoke, rising at various points.

The troops pressed forward at the top of their speed. On entering the town, they found that the native population had all been forced to leave and, piling their arms, they set to work to extinguish the flames; which they did not, however, succeed in doing until nearly half the town was destroyed. Fortunately the fire was checked before it reached the great magazines of grain, and other stores, for the army.

The belief that the negotiations had been only pretexts to arrest the advance of the troops against the town, until the expected reinforcements arrived, was confirmed by the natives; who presently came in from hiding places where they had taken refuge, until their army retired. They said that, as soon as the news came of the fall of Donabew, fresh levies were ordered to be collected in every part of Upper Burma; while the whole population of the province had been employed in adding to the defences of the town, which had been already very strongly stockaded.

It was a disappointment to the force, which had hoped that the occupation of Prome would bring about the submission of the court of Ava; and enable them to be taken down the river in boats, and embark, before the rainy season again set in. Nevertheless, the prospect of passing that season at Prome was vastly more pleasant than if it had to be spent at Rangoon. They were now inland, beyond the point where the rains were continuous. The town was situated on high ground, and the country round was open and healthy. Although for some little distance round the cattle had been driven off, and the villages destroyed; it was certain that flying columns would be able to bring in any amount of cattle, before the wet season began.

For a short time, it was thought that the occupation of Prome would show the king and court that it was useless to continue the struggle, any longer; but these hopes were dissipated when it was known that a further levy of 30,000 men had been called out. The court, however, was apparently conscious that its commands would no longer be obeyed with the alacrity before manifested. The early levies had obeyed the call with cheerfulness; believing in their invincibility, and confident that they would return home laden with spoil after driving, without difficulty, the audacious strangers into the sea. Things, however, had not turned out so. The troops that had left Ava in high spirits had been routed, with very heavy losses. Their great general, Bandoola, had been killed; and fugitives from the army were scattered over the land, bearing with them reports of the extraordinary fighting powers of these white enemies, and of the hopelessness of attempting to resist them. The consequence was that in issuing the order for the new levy a bounty of twenty pounds, which to the Burmans was a very large sum, was offered to each man who obeyed the call.

The first step, on the part of the British general, was to send proclamations through the country; guaranteeing protection to all, and inviting the population to return to their towns and villages. The troops were employed in erecting, with the assistance of as much native labour as could be procured, comfortable huts outside the town; so that the natives, on returning should find their homes unoccupied and untouched. It was not long before this excellent policy had its due effect. As soon as those who first returned sent the news to their friends, the fugitives came out from their hiding places in the forests, in great numbers, and returned to the city. Those whose homes were still standing settled down in them and resumed their ordinary avocations, just as if their native rulers were still in authority; while those whose houses had been burned set to work, with a cheerfulness characteristic of their race, to re-erect their light wooden dwellings.

So favourable were the reports spread through the country of our conduct that, in a short time, the population of Prome was considerably larger than it had been before the advance of our army. Similar results were speedily manifest throughout the whole district below the town. From the great forest that covered more than half of it, the villagers poured out, driving before them herds of cattle and, in two or three months, the country that had appeared a desert became filled with an industrious population. Order was established. The local civil officers were again appointed to their former posts, but their powers of oppression and intimidation were abrogated, by the order that no punishment beyond a short term of imprisonment was to be inflicted on any person, whatever, until the case had been brought before the British authorities; and soon the only fear entertained by the people of the rich district of the lower Irrawaddy was that the British troops would march away, and leave them again to the oppression and tyranny of their former masters.

The markets of Prome were abundantly supplied with food of all sorts and, as everything was liberally paid for, any number of bullocks were obtainable for, although the Burmese are forbidden by their religion to kill cattle, and therefore keep them only for draught purposes, they had no objection to our killing them; or indeed, to eat the meat, when they could obtain it. Labour of all kinds was abundant, and great numbers of canoes were constructed for the purpose of bringing up supplies from the villages on the river, and for the advance of the force at the end of the wet season. Until this set in in earnest, small bodies of troops marched through the forests; driving out the bands that infested them, and plundered and killed the country people without mercy.

The general's aides-de-camp had a busy time of it, being constantly employed in carrying orders to the towns and villages, in hearing complaints and, in Stanley's case, entering into agreements for the purchase of cattle and grain. When in Prome, he spent a good deal of his spare time with his cousin who, having bought a horse, frequently obtained leave to accompany him on his excursions on duty. A warm friendship had sprung up between them. Harry was two years older than Stanley, and had been at Eton up to the time that he entered the army. He was, however, in manner no older than his cousin; whose work, for the three years previous to the outbreak of the war, had rendered him graver and more manly than a life spent among lads of his own age could have done.

Meinik always accompanied Stanley, wherever he went. He had now, to the latter's quiet amusement, modified his Burmese costume; making it look like that of some of the whites and, indeed, he would have passed without notice as one of the Goa-Portuguese mess waiters, in his suit of white nankeen. When riding, or on any service away from the headquarter camp, he was dressed in a suit of tough brown khaki which he had obtained from one of the traders at Rangoon. The coat differed but little from that of the suit Stanley had handed over to him; except that it was somewhat shorter and without the small shoulder cape and, in fact, resembled closely the modern regimental tunic. Below he wore knee breeches of the same material; with putties, or long bands of cloth, wound round and round the leg, and which possessed many advantages over gaiters. He still clung to the turban but, instead of being white, it was of the same colour as his clothes, and was much larger than the Burmese turban.

"Burmese are great fools," he often said to Stanley. "They think they know a great deal; they know nothing at all. They think they are great fighters; they are no good at fighting, for one Englishman beats ten of them. Their government is no good—it keeps everyone very poor and miserable. You come here; you know nothing of the country, and yet you make everyone comfortable. We ride through the villages; we see everyone rejoicing that they are governed by the English, and hoping that the English will never go away again.

"What do you think, sir—will you stay here always? You have had much trouble to take the country. A great many people have been ill; a great many died. Now you have got it, why should you go away again?"

"It is quite certain that we shall not give it all up, Meinik. It has been, as you say, a troublesome and very expensive business; and the farther the king obliges us to go up, before he makes peace, the more he will have to pay, either in money or territory. Of course, I cannot say what the terms of peace will be; but I should think that, very likely, we shall hold the country from the sea up to here, with Aracan and a strip along the sea coast of Tenasserim."

"That will be good," Meinik said. "I shall never go outside the English land, again. There will be plenty to do, and a great trade on the river; everyone will be happy and contented. I should be a fool to go back to Upper Burma; where they would chop off my head, if they knew that I had been down to Rangoon when the English were there."

Chapter 12: Harry Carried Off.

Early in September, Stanley was sent to purchase cattle from some of the villages near the foot of the hills and, at the same time, to make inquiries as to the movements of a large band of marauders who had been making raids in that neighbourhood. He had with him four troopers of the bodyguard. Harry Brooke accompanied him. Although from the healthier situation of Prome, the amount of illness during the wet season did not approach that which had been suffered at Rangoon, a great many men were in hospital, and there were many deaths. Harry had had a sharp attack of fever and, as he had now recovered, to a certain extent, the medical officer of his regiment strongly recommended that he should have a change; and he therefore, without difficulty, obtained his colonel's leave to accompany Stanley, as the ground would be much higher than that on the river, and the mere fact of getting away from a camp where so many deaths took place every day would, in itself, be of great value.

Stanley's daily journeys were not likely to be long ones, as he had instructions to stop at all villages; and to see how things were going on, and whether the people had any complaints to make of oppression and exaction by their local authorities.

"It is a tremendous pull, your being able to speak the language, Stanley," Harry said. "If it hadn't been for that, you would have been stuck at Prome, like the rest of us. Instead of that, you are always about; and you look as fresh and healthy as if you were at a hill station, in India."

"Yes, it has been an immense advantage to me, in all ways. Of course, I should never have got my staff appointment if it had not been for that.

"By the way, I have not told you that, while you were down with the fever, the gazette containing the confirmation of my appointment by the general, and the notice of my commission, dated on the day of my appointment, came out. I had quite a lump sum to draw for although, I have been paid as interpreter all along, the paymaster made a difficulty about my pay as a subaltern, until I was gazetted regularly; so I have quite a large sum coming to me, on my pay and allowances. I don't know how you stand for cash but, if you are short at all, I can let you have anything that you want."

"I have got really more than I know what to do with, Stanley. I bought an uncommonly good native horse, as you know, six weeks ago; and I am going to ride him for the first time now but, really, that is almost the first penny that I have spent since we left Rangoon. There is nothing to buy here except food and, of course, that is a mess business. I had an idea that this was a rich country but, so far, one has seen nothing in the way of rich dress materials, or shawls, or carpets, or jewelry that one could send home as presents. Why, in India I was always being tempted; but here it is certainly the useful, rather than the ornamental, that meets the eye."

"I saw some nice things at Ava but, of course, all the upper classes bolted as we came up the country; and the traders in rich goods did the same. Are you going to take a servant with you, Harry? I don't think that there is any occasion to do so, for Meinik can look after us both, well enough."

"Yes, I am thinking of taking my native, the man I hired just after I got here. He is a very good fellow, and made himself very useful, while I was ill. I picked up a tat for him, yesterday, for a few rupees. I know that your man would do very well for us both but, sometimes, when you make a village your headquarters and ride to visit others from it, I may not feel well enough to go with you; and then he would come in very handy, for he has picked up a good many words of English. Your man is getting on very well, that way."

"Yes; he was some time before he began for, of course, he had no occasion for it; but now that he has taken to what he considers an English costume, and has made up his mind that he will never settle down again under a Burmese government, he has been trying hard to pick up the language. I found that it was rather a nuisance at first when, instead of telling him what was wanted in his own language, I had to tell him in English, and then translate it for him. However, he does understand a good deal now and, whenever he has nothing else to do, he is talking with the soldiers. Of course, from his riding about so much with me, he is pretty well known, now; and as he is a good-tempered, merry fellow, he makes himself at home with them and, if the campaign lasts another six months, I think he will speak very fair English."

"I fancy that you will have to make up your mind that he is a permanency, Stanley. I am sure he intends to follow you, wherever you go; whether it is to England, India, or anywhere else."

"I sha'n't be sorry for that, Harry; certainly not as long as I am out here. In the first place, he is really a very handy fellow, and ready to make himself useful, in any way; then there is no doubt that he is greatly attached to me, and would go through fire and water for me. A man of that sort is invaluable to anyone knocking about as I shall be, when the war is over and I take up trading again. His only fault is that he is really too anxious to do things for me. Of course, when I am on duty there is nothing much he can do; but if I am sitting in a room, he will squat for hours in the corner and watch me. If my cheroot gets low, there he is with a fresh one and a light, in a moment. If I drop my handkerchief, or a pen, there he is with it, before I have time to stoop. Sometimes I have really to invent errands to send him on, so as to give him something to do for me. I own that I have not contemplated what position he would occupy, if I go trading; but I quite recognize that he will go with me, and that he would become a portion of my establishment, even if that establishment consisted only of himself.

"Will you be ready to start at four in the morning? The sun is tremendously hot now, on the days between the rain; at any rate, it will be much better for you, till you get your strength, to travel in the cool of the morning, or in the evening."

"I shall be ready. I will be round here, with my servant, by that hour. By the way, what shall I bring with me?"

"Nothing at all. I shall take a couple of chickens, and some bread and coffee and sugar, and a bottle of brandy for emergencies; but we shall have no difficulty in getting food in the villages. The troopers will only carry their day's rations with them. After that I always act as mess caterer, and charge expenses when I get back here."

Accordingly, the next morning they started at four o'clock. Stanley insisted that Harry should ride his second horse, for the present; as his own, having been six weeks without exercise, and fed very much better than it had been accustomed to, was in much too high spirits to be pleasant for an invalid. Meinik, therefore, took Harry's; and the latter rode beside his cousin, whose horse had had abundant exercise, and was well content to canter quietly along by the side of his companion.

By the end of ten days, Harry had picked up some of his strength. They now reached a village which Stanley decided to use as his headquarters, for a few days, while he made excursions to other places within a day's ride. It was a good place for a halt; standing as it did at some height on the hills, where the air was much cooler at night than in the flat country. It was surrounded by a clearing of about a hundred acres in extent; planted with cacao trees, pepper, and many kinds of vegetables.

"This is delightful!" Harry said, as they sat in front of the hut that had been cleared for them, and looked over the plain. "It must be twenty degrees cooler, here, than it was at Prome. I think I shall do nothing tomorrow, Stanley, but just sit here and enjoy myself. I know it is very lazy, for I am feeling quite myself again; still, after ten days' riding, I do think that it will be pleasant to have a day's rest."

"Do, by all means," Stanley said. "I think you had better stay here for the three days that we shall remain. Your man is a very good cook, and there is no lack of food. Those chickens we had just now were excellent, and the people have promised to bring in some game, tomorrow. There are plenty of snakes, too; and you lose a good deal, I can assure you, by turning up your nose at them. They are just as good as eels, as Meinik cooks them—stewed with a blade of cinnamon, and some hot peppers. I cannot see that they can be a bit more objectionable to eat than eels; indeed, for anything one knows, the eel may have been feasting on a drowned man, the day before he was caught; while the snakes only take a meal once a week or so, and then only a small bird of some kind."

"I dare say that you are quite right, Stanley, and I own that the dishes your man turns out look tempting; but I cannot bring myself to try, at any rate as long as I can get anything else to eat. If I knew that it was a case of snake, or nothing, I would try it; but till then, I prefer sticking to birds and beasts."

The next morning Stanley rode off, with two of his escort and Meinik, who declined altogether to be left behind.

"No, master," he said, "there is never any saying when you may want me; and what should I ever say to myself if misfortune were to come to you, and I were not to be there?"

Stanley had a long day's work. As a rule, the villagers had few complaints to make but, at the place he went to on this occasion, the headman had been behaving as in the old times; and Stanley had to listen to a long series of complaints on behalf of the villagers. The case was fully proved, both as to extortion and ill treatment. Stanley at once deprived the man of his office, and called upon the villagers to assemble and elect another in his place.

"If you are not satisfied," he said to the fellow, "you can go to Prome, and appeal to the general there; but I warn you that, if you do, you must give notice to the villagers of your intention so that they may, if they choose, send two or three of their number to repeat the evidence that they have given me. I have noted this fully down, and I can tell you that the general, when he reads it, will be much more likely to order you a sound flogging, than to reinstate you in your office."

It was dusk when Stanley arrived within two miles of the village where he had left Harry. Meinik, who was riding just behind him, brought his horse up alongside.

"Do you see that, sir? There is a light in the sky. It is just over where the village is. I am afraid there is a fire there."

"You are right, Meinik. I hope nothing has gone wrong."

He touched his horse with his heel, and rode on at a gallop. He became more and more anxious, as he approached the village. No flames could be seen leaping up, but there was a dull glow in the sky. As he rode into the clearing, he reined up his horse in dismay. A number of glowing embers, alone, marked the place where the village had stood; and no figures were to be seen moving about.

"There has been foul play, Meinik.

"Get ready for action, men," he said to the two troopers, and they dashed forward at a gallop.

Two or three little groups of people were sitting, in an attitude of deep dejection, by the remains of their houses.

"What has happened?" Stanley shouted, as he rode up.

"The robbers have been here, and have slain many, and burned the village."

"Where is my friend?"

"They have carried him off, my lord; or at least, we cannot find his body. His servant and one of the soldiers are lying dead; but of the other soldier, and the officer, there are no signs."

"This is terrible!" Stanley exclaimed. "Tell me exactly how it happened."

"It was four hours ago, my lord. The robbers came suddenly out from the plantation, and fell upon the people. Many they killed at once; but many also have escaped as we did, by running in among the plantations, and so into the forest. We heard the firing of guns, for a little time; then everything was silent, and we knew that the robbers were searching the houses. Half an hour later, smoke rose in many places, and then flames; then after a time, all was quiet. A boy crept up among the bushes, and came back with the news that they had all gone.

"Then we came out again. Twenty-three of our people had been killed, and eight carried off; at least, we cannot find the bodies. The white officer and one of his soldiers have gone, also."

"Which way did they go?"

"The tracks show that they went up the hill. Most likely they will have gone to Toungoo, if they have gone to any town at all; but indeed, we think they have taken the prisoners to get a reward for them."

Stanley had thrown himself off his horse, as he rode up; and he stood for some time, silently leaning against it. Then he said to Meinik:

"Picket the horses, and then come and have a talk with me."

Then he turned to the two troopers:

"There is nothing to be done now," he said. "You had better look about, and see what you can find in the way of food; and then get a grave dug for your comrade, and another for Mr. Brooke's servant."

The two Mahommedan troopers saluted, and led their horses away. Meinik, after picketing the animals, returned to Stanley but, seeing that the latter was pacing up and down, and evidently not disposed to speak, he went away.

There were a good many fowls walking about, in a bewildered way, near the huts. They had been away, as usual, searching for food in the plantations and fields when the robber band arrived and, on their return home at dusk, had found everything changed. A boy at once caught and killed two of these, plucked them and brought them to Meinik who, getting some embers from the fires, cut the fowls in two and put them on to roast. A few minutes sufficed to cook them. As soon as they were ready, Meinik took them to Stanley.

"You must eat, master," he said. "You have had nothing since we started, this morning; and sorrow, alone, makes a poor supper. You will want to do something, I know; and will need all your strength."

"You are right, Meinik. Yes, give me one of them, and take the other one yourself and, while we eat, we can talk. Of course, I must make an effort to rescue my cousin from the hands of this band."

"Yes, master, I knew that you would do that."

"Did you ask how many there were of them, Meinik?"

"Some say forty, some say sixty."

"If we knew where they are now, and could come up to them, we might manage to get them off while the robbers were asleep."

Meinik shook his head.

"They are sure to keep a strict guard, over a white officer," he said; "but if we rushed in and shouted, and fired pistols, they might all run away."

"I am afraid not, Meinik. There might be a scare for a minute but, directly they saw that there were only two of us, they would turn and kill us. Your people are brave enough. They may feel that they cannot stand against our troops, owing to our discipline; but they fight bravely hand-to-hand. However, we don't know exactly which way they have gone; and it would be hopeless to search for them in the forest, during the darkness.

"What should they go to Toungoo for?"

"I have been thinking it over, master; and it seems to me that many of them may belong there, or to the villages near. They may not dare return to their homes, because they are afraid that they would be punished for having left the army, and would certainly be sent off again to it. Now they may think that, if they go back with a white officer and soldier, and tell some story of having beaten a great many English, they will be rewarded; and may even be able to remain some time in their homes, before they are sent off; or they may be ordered to march with their prisoners to Ava, where they would get still more reward. I can see no other reason for their carrying off the officer."

"I think very likely that is so, Meinik. Anyhow, we are more likely to rescue my cousin, at Toungoo, than we should be while on the road. It would be next to impossible to find them among all the hills and trees and, even if we did come upon them at night, and could creep into the midst of them, we might find that my cousin is too severely wounded to travel for, as there was a fight, it is almost certain he must have been wounded before he was captured. Therefore, I think it is best to make straight for Toungoo.

"How many miles is it from here, do you think?"

Meinik went over to the natives and asked the question. "About forty-five miles, they say; very bad travelling; all mountains, but ten miles to the north is a road that runs straight there."

"Then we had better follow that, Meinik. In this broken country, and forest, we should be losing our way continually."

"How will you go, master? On horse or foot?"

"We will go on horseback, as far as we can; we are not likely to meet people travelling along the road, at present. Another thing is that, if we can get the horses as near the town as possible, they would be very useful for, if Mr. Brooke has been wounded badly, he may not be able to walk far.

"You do not know whether the country near the town is open, or whether the forests approach it closely?"

The natives were again applied to.

"It is a rich country there, they say; and well cultivated, for five or six miles round the town."

"I will go and have a talk with them, presently. It will, of course, be necessary for me to disguise myself again."

Meinik nodded.

"Yes, you must do that, master."

"Do you think that we can get two or three men to go with us, from here?"

"If you will pay them, master, no doubt they will be ready to go. They are well content with the white rulers. They find that they are not oppressed, and everything is paid for; and that the white officers treat them kindly and well. They have lost many things, in this affair today, and would be glad to earn a little money.

"How many would you like to have?"

"Four or five, Meinik. I don't exactly know, at present, what there would be for them to do; but they could help to make fires, and keep watch, while we are doing something. At any rate, they may be useful.

"Of course, I shall get the trooper out, too, if I can. Very likely they will be confined together and, if we rescue one, we can of course rescue the other.

"Now I must do some writing. Get me a torch of some sort, and I will do it while you are speaking to the natives."

Stanley always carried a notebook and pen and ink, to take down statements and complaints, as he rode about. He now sat down and wrote an account of what had taken place during his absence.

"We had no previous news of the existence of the band," he went on, "and the natives, themselves, had certainly no fear of any attack being imminent. Had I thought that there was the slightest risk, I should not have made the village my headquarters; or have left Mr. Brooke there, with only his servant and two troopers. I regret the matter, most deeply; and am about to set off to Toungoo, with my man. I shall, of course, go in disguise; and shall make every endeavour to free my cousin.

"I trust, General, that you will grant me leave for this purpose. I am, of course, unable to say how long it may take me but, however long, I shall persevere until I learn that my cousin is dead, or until I am, myself, killed. I trust that in starting at once, on the assumption that you will grant me leave, I am not committing a breach of duty. But if so, and you feel that you cannot, under the circumstances in which you are placed, grant leave to an officer to be absent on private business, I inclose a formal resignation of my commission, stating why I feel myself constrained, even in the presence of the enemy, to endeavour to rescue my cousin from the band that has carried him off. At any rate, it could not be said that I resigned in order to shirk danger.

"I sent off two days ago, by one of the natives here, a report of my proceedings up to that date; and have now the honour to inclose the notes I took of my investigations, today, into the conduct of the headman of Pilboora, and my reasons for depriving him of his office. I shall leave the two troopers of my escort here, with orders to remain until either I return, or they receive instructions from Prome. I am taking a few of the villagers with me. Should anything occur to me, at Toungoo, they will bring back the news to the troopers; and I shall leave instructions with them to carry it, at once, to you. If I find that Mr. Brooke has been sent on to Ava I shall, of course, follow and endeavour to effect his rescue on the road.

"As it is possible, General, that I may not have another opportunity of thanking you for the many kindnesses that you have shown me, allow me to do so, most heartily, now."

When Stanley had concluded the letter, and written the paper offering his resignation, and giving his reasons for so doing, he called Meinik to him.

"Well, Meinik, have you found men willing to go with us?"

"Yes, master, I have got five men; two of them know Toungoo well. All are stout fellows. I offered them the terms that you mentioned—fifty ounces of silver, to each man, if you succeeded by their aid in rescuing the officer. They were delighted at the offer, which would enable them to replace everything that they have lost.

"I told them, of course, that if it were necessary to fight, they would have to do so; and that, as many of their countrymen were enlisted, as gun lascars and in other occupations, with the English; and are, of course, exposed to the attacks of their countrymen, they would only be doing what others have been willing to do.

"They said that they were ready enough to fight. You were the government, now; and you were a good government, and they would fight for you and, besides, as the officer was carried off from their village, it was their duty to help to get him back.

"One of them said, 'These men who attacked us are Burmese soldiers. As they attack us, there is no reason why we should not attack them.'

"So I think, master, that you can count upon them. The Burmese have always been fond of fighting, because fighting means booty. The troops don't want to fight any more, because they get no booty, and a number of them are killed. But, now that the villagers have been forced to go to the war against their will; and have been plundered, and many killed, by Burmese soldiers, they are quite ready to take sides with you. Three of them have had wives or children killed, today; and that makes them full of fight."

"Well, you had better tell them to cook, at once, food for two or three days. At four o'clock they are to start, through the forest, to the road you spoke of. We will set out at the same time, on horseback; but we shall have to make a detour, so they will be on the road before we are. Tell them when they get there to stop, until we come up."

"Yes, master. It is a good thing that I rode your second horse, yesterday, instead of Mr. Brooke's animal."

"Yes, he is worth a good deal more than the other, Meinik, and I should certainly have been sorry to lose him."

"One of the men who is going with us says that he knows of the ruins of an old temple, eight or nine miles this side of Toungoo; and that this would be a good place for us to leave our horses. It is very, very old; one of those built by the people who lived in the land before we came to it, and the Burmans do not like to go near it; so that there would be no fear of our being disturbed, there. Even these men do not much like going there; but I told them that no evil spirits would come, where white men were."

"It is rather far off, Meinik; but as you say the country is cultivated, for some distance round the town, we shall certainly have to leave our horses some six or seven miles away; and two or three miles will not make much difference. We can put on our disguises there.

"You had better take a couple of boys to look after the horses, while we are away."

"They would not sleep there, at night," Meinik said, doubtfully. "I don't think the men would, either, if you were not there."

"That would not matter, Meinik, if as you say, there is no fear of anyone else going there."

"Certainly, no one else will go there at night, master."

"At any rate, if you can get two boys to go, we may as well take them. They might go there in the day, and feed and water the horses; and sleep some distance away, at night."

Meinik found two boys, sixteen years old, who said that they would go with them and, at the hour agreed on, Stanley and Meinik started on horseback. They descended the hill to the plain at its foot and, turning to the right, rode for some ten or twelve miles; when they struck into the road and, following this at an easy pace they came, in the course of another hour, upon the party of villagers sitting by the roadside.

The sun was just rising, and they travelled for three hours without meeting anyone; then they drew off into the wood, at a point where a small stream crossed the road and, after eating a meal, and giving a good feed to the horses, lay down to sleep till the heat of the day abated—the natives, who were all armed with spears and swords, keeping watch by turns.

At four o'clock they started again and, at ten, approached the spot where, in the depth of the wood, lay the temple. The man who knew its position declared, however, that he could not find it, at night. Stanley had no doubt that he was really afraid to go there but, as he did not wish to press them against their will, he said carelessly that it made no difference if they halted there, or close by the road, and a fire being speedily lit, they bivouacked round it.

Meinik had procured the necessary dyes from a village, and Stanley was again stained, and covered with tattoo marks, as before.

"What am I to do about your hair, master?" he asked. "It will never do for you to go, like this."

Stanley had not thought of this point and, for a time, was completely at a loss. His own hair was now short, and could not possibly be turned up.

"The only thing that I can see," he said, after a long pause, "is for you and the men each to cut off a lock of hair from the top of your heads, where it will not show. The six locks would be ample; but I don't see how you are to fasten it, below the turban."

"There are berries we can get wax from," Meinik said. "We boil them in water, and the wax floats at the top. With that, master, we could fasten the hair in among yours, so that it would look all right."

The men had all laughed at the proposal, but willingly consented to part with a portion of their hair. Meinik therefore proceeded to stain Stanley's close crop black and, the first thing in the morning, the boys went out, soon returning with a quantity of berries. Some water was poured over them, in an earthenware pot, and placed over the fire and, in half an hour, a thick scum of oil gathered on the surface. Meinik skimmed it off, as fast as it formed and, as it cooled, it solidified into a tenacious mass, somewhat resembling cobblers' wax. The six locks of hair had already been cut off, and the ends were smeared with the wax, and worked in among Stanley's own hair; then a little of the hot wax was rubbed in, and the men all declared that no one would notice anything peculiar in his appearance. The long tresses were curled round, at the top of the head, and a ring of muslin tied round. The Burmans were immensely amused at the transformation that had been wrought in Stanley's appearance; and followed him through the wood, to the temple, without any signs of nervousness.

The ruins were extensive. A considerable portion of the building had been hewn out of the face of a precipitous rock, in the manner of some Hindoo temples; and it was evident that it had been the work of a people more closely allied to the Indian race than to the Tartar or Chinese people, from whom the Burmese sprung. Uncouth figures were sculptured on the walls. At these the Burmese looked with some awe but, as Stanley laughed and joked over them, they soon recovered their usual demeanour.

"I am a great deal more afraid of tigers than of ghosts," Stanley said; "a deserted place like this is just the sort of spot they would be likely to be in. At any rate, if these caves do not go any further into the hill—and there are no signs of their doing so—it may be hoped that the tigers have their superstitions about it, too. At any rate, it will be a good thing to pile a great quantity of firewood at the entrance; and I think one of you had better stay here, with the boys. They and the horses would be a great deal safer here, with a fire burning; than they would be in the woods, where a tiger might pounce upon them, at any moment. As to this folly about spirits, it is only old women's chatter."

The Burmese talked among themselves, and one of the men finally agreed to stay with the boys. An hour was spent in gathering a pile of brushwood and logs, and the man said that he and the two boys would gather plenty more, during the day. They were, at four o'clock, to take the horses down to the river, a mile distant, and let them drink their fill. They had brought with them a large bag of grain—which had been carried by the men—a quantity of plantains, and some fowls. Therefore, the party that were to remain would be well provided.

Moreover, in collecting the wood a score of snakes had been killed. Some of these and a chicken had been cooking while they were at work and, as soon as this was eaten, they started for the town. When they came within a mile of it, Stanley entered a plantation of fruit trees, and Meinik and the four men went on.

They returned, in two hours, with the news that a party of ten men had arrived in the town, on the previous day, with two prisoners. One, a coloured man, had been able to walk. The other, a white man, had been carried in on a litter. They had both been lodged in the jail.

By this time, the conduct of the English towards the natives, at Rangoon and the territory they occupied, had had one good effect. Signally as they had been defeated by them, the Burmese had lost their individual hatred of the strangers. They knew that their wounded and prisoners always received kind treatment at their hands and, although the court of Ava remained as arrogant and bigoted as ever, the people in lower Burma had learned to respect their invaders, and the few prisoners they had taken received much better treatment than those who had been captured at the commencement of the war.

As soon as it was dusk, Stanley went with Meinik into the town. It was a place of considerable size, with buildings at least equal to those at Prome. Toungoo had formed part of the kingdom of Pegu, before it had been subdued by the Burmese. The peculiar and characteristic facial outline of the latter was, here, much less strongly marked and, in many cases, entirely absent; so Stanley felt that, even in daylight, he would pass without attracting any attention.

The prison was surrounded by a strong and high bamboo fence, and in the space inclosed by this were eight or ten dwellings of the usual wooden construction. A dozen armed men were seated by a fire in the yard, and two sentries were carelessly leaning against the gate.

"There should be no difficulty in getting in there with two rope ladders—one to climb up with, and one to drop on the other side," Stanley said. "You may be sure that most of the guard go to sleep, at night. The first thing to ascertain is which house the prisoners are kept in and, in the second place, how my cousin is going on. We can do nothing until he is able to walk for a short distance.

"Let us move round to the other side of the inclosure. It may be that a sentry is posted at their door."

On getting to the other side, and looking through the crevices between the bamboos, they could make out two figures squatted by the door of one of the houses; and had no doubt that this was the one in which Harry Brooke was confined.

"Now, Meinik, the first thing is for you to go and buy a rope. When the place gets quite quiet, we will make a loop and throw it over the top of the palisade, behind that hut; then I will climb up and let myself down, inside, and then crawl up to the hut and see what is going on there. If my cousin is alone, I will endeavour to speak to him; but of course there may be a guard inside, as well as at the door. If he is very ill, there will probably be a light."

"Let me go, master!"

"No, Meinik, I would rather go myself. I shall be able to judge how he is, if I can catch a sight of him."

Chapter 13: Preparing A Rescue.

Stanley remained where he was until Meinik returned, in half an hour, with the rope. Stanley made a loop at one end; and then knotted it, at distances of about a foot apart, to enable him to climb it more easily. Then they waited until the guard fire burnt down low, and most of the men went off into a hut a few yards distant, three only remaining talking before the fire. Then Stanley moved round to the other side of the palisade and, choosing a spot immediately behind the hut where the sentries were posted, threw up the rope. It needed many attempts before the loop caught at the top of one of the bamboos. As soon as it did so, he climbed up.

He found that the position was an exceedingly unpleasant one. The bamboos were all so cut that each of them terminated in three spikes, and so impossible was it to cross this that he had to slip down the rope again. On telling Meinik what was the matter, the latter at once took off his garment and folded it up into a roll, two feet long.

"If you lay that on the top, master, you will be able to cross."

This time Stanley had little difficulty. On reaching the top, he laid the roll on the bamboo spikes; and was able to raise himself on to it and sit there, while he pulled up the rope and dropped it on the inside. Descending, he at once began to crawl towards the hut. As he had seen before climbing, a light was burning within, and the window was at the back of the house. This was but some twenty yards from the palisade and, when he reached it, he stood up and cautiously looked in.

The Indian trooper was seated in a chair, asleep, without his tunic. One arm was bandaged, and a blood-stained cloth was wrapped round his head. On a bamboo pallet, with a dark rug thrown over it, was another figure. The lamp on the wall gave too feeble a light for Stanley to be able to make out whether the figure lying there was Harry, but he had no doubt that it was so.

In a low tone he said, in Hindustani, "Wake up, man!"

The soldier moved a little. Stanley repeated the words in a somewhat louder tone, and the trooper sprang to his feet, and looked round in a bewildered way.

"Come to the window," Stanley said. "It is I, your officer."

The man's glance turned to the window but, surprised at seeing a Burmese peasant—as he supposed—instead of the officer, he stood hesitating.

"Come on," Stanley said. "I am Lieutenant Brooke."

The soldier recognized the voice, drew himself up, made the military salute, and then stepped to the window.

"I have come," Stanley said, "to try and rescue Lieutenant Brooke, and yourself. I have some friends without. How is he?"

"He is very ill, sir. He is badly wounded, and is unconscious. Sometimes he lies for hours without moving; sometimes he talks to himself but, as I cannot understand the language, I know not what he says; but sometimes he certainly calls upon you. He uses your name often.

"I do what I can for him, but it is very little. I bathe his forehead with water, and pour it between his lips. Of course he can eat nothing, but I keep the water my rice is boiled in and, when it is cool, give it him to drink. There is some strength in it."

"Then nothing can be done, at present," Stanley said. "Tomorrow night I will bring some fruit. You can squeeze the juice of some limes into a little water, and give it to him. There is nothing better for fever. As soon as he is well enough for us to get him through the palisades, we will have a litter ready for him, and carry him off; but nothing can be done until then.

"How are you treated?"

"They give me plenty of rice, sahib, and I am at liberty to go out into the courtyard in the daytime and, now that I know that you are near, I shall have no fear. I have been expecting that they would send me to Ava where, no doubt, they would kill me; but I have thought most that, if they were to send me away from here, and there was no one to look after the sahib, he would surely die."

At this moment Stanley felt a hand roughly placed on his shoulder. Turning round, he struck out with all his strength, full in a man's face, and he fell like a log.

"If they ask you who was here," he said hastily to the trooper, "say that you know not who it was. A Burmese came and spoke to you, but of course you thought that he was one of the guard."

Then he ran to the rope, climbed up and, as he got over, pulled it up and threw it down to Meinik—as he thought that there might be some difficulty in shaking it off from the bamboo—then he dropped to the ground, bringing down the pad with him.

"Did you kill him, master?" Meinik asked, as they hurried away. "I was watching the window, and saw you talking to someone inside; then I saw a man suddenly come into the light and put his hand upon you, and saw you turn round, and he fell without a sound being heard."

"There is no fear of his being killed, Meinik. I simply hit him hard; and he went down, I have no doubt, stunned. It is unfortunate but, though they may set extra guards for a time, I think they will not believe the man's story; or at any rate, will suppose that it was only one of the guard who, not being able to sleep, wandered round there and looked into the hut from behind. The worst of it is that I am afraid that there is no chance of my being able to take my cousin some limes and other fruit, tomorrow night, as I said I would. He is very ill, and quite unconscious."

"That is very bad, master. I will try and take him in some fruit, tomorrow. If they won't let me in, I will watch outside the gates and, when one of the guard comes out, will take him aside; and I have no doubt that, for a small bribe, he will carry in the fruit and give it to the trooper. I wonder that they put them into that hut with the window at the back."

"I don't suppose they would have done so, if my cousin had not been so ill that it was evident that he could not, for some time, attempt to escape."

They joined the villagers outside the town and, telling them that there was nothing to do that night, returned to the temple. They found the man and the two boys, sitting by a great fire, but shivering with terror.

"What is the matter?" Stanley asked.

"The spirits have been making all sorts of noises outside, and there are other noises at the end of the cave, close to the horses."

Stanley took a brand and went over to them. They were both munching their grain quietly.

"Well, you see the horses are not frightened; so you may be sure that whatever were the noises you heard, there was nothing unnatural about them. What were they like?"

The question was not answered for, at that moment, a sound like a loud deep sigh was heard overhead. The natives started back; and even Stanley felt, for a moment, uncomfortable.

"It is only the wind," he said. "There must be some opening above there; and the wind makes a noise in it, just as it does in a chimney. We will see all about it, in the morning.

"Now, as to the noises outside."

"They were wailing cries," the man said.

"Pooh! They must have been tigers or leopards, or perhaps only wild cats. No doubt they smelt you and the horses, but were too much afraid of the fire to come any nearer. Why, you must have heard tigers often enough to know their cries."

"I thought myself that they were tigers," the man said, rather shamefacedly, "but the boys said they were certain that they were not; and I was not sure, myself, one way or the other."

Sitting down by the fire, Stanley told the men the exact position of the prisoners; and said that he feared it would be altogether impossible to get Harry out, for the present.

"I would give anything to have him here," he said; "but it would be impossible to get him over the palisade."

"We might cut through it, master," Meinik said. "With a sharp saw we could cut a hole big enough, in an hour, to carry his litter out. The only thing is, we could not get his bed through that window."

"We might get over that, by making a narrow litter," Stanley said, "and lifting him from the bed on to it. The difficulty would be, what to do with him when we got him out? As to carrying him any distance, in his present state it would be out of the question; besides, the guard are sure to be vigilant, for some considerable time. I think that the best plan would be for you all to go back to your village, tomorrow, taking the horses with you; and for one of you to come over, every other day, for orders. Then there would be no occasion for anyone to watch the horses. They certainly will be of no use to us, at present, for it will be weeks before my cousin is strong enough to ride.

"Meinik and I will take up our abode close to the edge of the forest, for that will save us some four or five miles' walk, each day. The first thing in the morning, you shall go with me and choose a spot; so that you may both know where to find us. Two of you have got axes, and we will make a shelter in a tree; so as to be able to sleep without fear of tigers when we go out there, though I dare say that we shall generally sleep near the town. However, one or other of us will always be at the spot, at midday, on the days when you are to meet us.

"Now that I think of it, two of you may as well stay at the shelter, for the present, while the other three and the two boys go home. Then there will be no occasion to take the long journey so often. When we do get my cousin out, we shall have to take up our abode, for a time, either here or in the forest, until he is well enough to bear the journey."

In the morning Stanley closely examined the roof of the cave, but could see no opening to account for the noise that he had heard. He had, however, no doubt that one existed somewhere. He left a man with the two boys in charge of the horses, and went with the others until they approached the edge of the forest. They kept along within the trees for half a mile, so that any fire they might light would be unseen by people travelling along the road. The men considered this precaution needless, as they declared that no one would venture to pass along it after nightfall; partly owing to the fear of tigers, and partly to the vicinity of the temple.

A suitable tree was soon fixed on; and the Burmese, now in their element, ascended it by driving in pegs at distances of two feet apart. Once among the high branches, they lopped off all small boughs that would be in the way and then, descending, cut a number of poles, and many lengths of tough creeper and, with these, they constructed a platform among the higher branches; and on it erected a sort of arbour, amply sufficient to hold four or five people, lying down. This arbour would hardly be noticed, even by persons searching; as it was, to a great extent, hidden by the foliage beneath it. Stanley told Meinik that they had better buy some rope for a ladder, and take out the pegs; as these might catch the eye of a passer-by, and cause him to make a close search above.

As soon as the work was finished, two of the men went back to the temple, to start at once for home with their companion, the boys, and the horses. Stanley had brought with him his pistols, the two horse blankets, and other things that might be useful and, when these were stored above he, with Meinik and the two men, went towards the town. He stopped, as before, a short distance outside. Just as it was dusk, the men returned carrying the rope that Meinik had bought, and a store of food. With these they were sent to the shelter, and Stanley entered the town, where he met Meinik.

"I have sent in the fruit," the latter said. "I had no difficulty about it. I told the first soldier who came out, after I had bought it, that I came from the village where the white officer had been captured by the bandits. He had been very kind to us all and, as we knew that he had been carried off badly wounded, I had come over to get some fruit for him; but I found that they would not let me in at the gate. I said I would give an ounce of silver to him, if he would hand the things to the prisoner for me.

"He said, at once, that he would do so. He had heard that the whites always treated their wounded prisoners very well; and that there would be no difficulty about it, for that there was a window at the back of the hut where he was lying, and he could easily pass things in there without anyone noticing it. If the prisoner was, as I said, a good man, it was only right that he should be helped.

"I told him that I should look out for him, and might want him to do the same, another day. I think that he was an honest fellow, and might have passed the fruit in, even without a reward. Still, everyone is glad to earn a little money.

"He told me that a strange thing had happened, last night. One of his comrades had declared that he had found a giant, standing at the window where the prisoner was. He put his hand upon him, when he was struck down by lightning. No one would have believed his tale at all, if it had not been that his nose was broken. The other prisoner had been questioned but, as he did not understand Burmese, they could learn nothing from him. Two guards were, in future, to be placed at the back of the house, as well as in the front."

"That part of the business is bad, Meinik."

"I dare say we shall be able to bribe them, master. You may be sure that most of them are eager to get back to their own villages and, for a few ounces of silver, they would be glad enough to help us, and then to make their escape and go off to their homes. The man I saw today might find one among them ready to do so, with him; especially if their homes happened to be on the other side of the hills, and there would then be no chance of their being seized, and sent back again, by their headman. The sentry would only have to let us know what night he would arrange for them both to be on guard, together, behind the hut; then we should be able to manage it well."

"It would be a capital plan that, Meinik, if it could be arranged.

"Well, it is a great comfort to know that the fruit has got in safely. The limes, especially, will be a great help to my cousin. Next time you see the man, you must try and get him to find out how he is going on."

For a fortnight, Stanley remained in the forest. Meinik met the soldier every other day, and sent in fruit and, at the end of the ten days, he heard that the prisoner had recovered his senses. It was said that, as soon as he was well enough to move, he was to be sent to Ava.

"Now you had better begin to sound the man, as to his willingness to aid him to escape."

"I have very little doubt about it, master, for I have already learned that his home is on the other side of the hills. He went down with Bandoola; and returned after his defeat, with a number of others, travelling up the bank of the Pegu river. If they had not had their military chief with them, they would have started straight for home. But they were marched here, and have been kept on duty in the town, ever since. He has heard how well off the people are on the other side of the hills, under English rule; so I feel sure that he will be glad to escape, if he sees a chance of getting off."

"That is good. In the first place, let him know that the other English officer, who was at the village with the one they captured, had said that he would be ready to pay well anyone who would aid in his escape. If he says that he would willingly do so, if he also could get away, tell him that one man would be of no use but that, if he could get another to join him, so that they could both go on guard together behind the house, it could be managed.

"But say that, in the first place, I must myself speak to the white officer, and learn exactly how he is, and whether he can endure a journey as far as this tree, or the temple—whichever we may decide upon as best. When I have seen him, I will send for the other men from the village. I am in no hurry to get him away, for the longer he stays quiet, the better. But at any moment the governor may decide that he is sufficiently recovered to be carried, and may send him off to Ava, under a strong escort. Therefore, although we will put off moving him as long as possible, we must not run the risk of his being sent away."

Four days later, Meinik said that the man had arranged with another to join him, and that both would be on duty behind the hut, that evening, between nine and midnight. Accordingly, at ten o'clock Stanley arrived, with Meinik and the two villagers, at the palisade. Meinik had insisted upon accompanying him to the hut.

"I believe that the man is to be trusted, master; indeed I am sure he is, but I do not know the second man. He may have pretended to accept the offer, only on purpose to betray his comrade, and to obtain honour and reward for preventing the escape of the white man. Therefore, I must be with you, in case you are attacked. Our other two men may be useful, to give the alarm, if a party is sent round to cut us off."

Stanley, who had brought a horse blanket with him to lay on the top of the palisade, was the first to drop into the inclosure. Meinik followed him closely. Nothing had been said to the guard as to the white officer, of whom Meinik had spoken, being himself of the party; and Stanley had purposely left his pistols behind him, lest he should be tempted to use them. In case he was attacked, he carried a spear and a long Burmese knife.

Meinik had begged to be allowed to go forward first, while Stanley remained by the rope. He pointed out that some change might possibly have been made, and that other men might have been placed on sentry.

"I know you, master," he said; "if you got there, and found two strangers, and they attacked you, you would fight; then they would give the alarm, and others would come up before you could cross the palisade. I shall steal up. When I am close, I shall make a noise like the hiss of a snake. If my men are both there, they will repeat the sound. If they are not, and one comes forward to look for and kill the snake, I shall slay him before he has time to utter a sound. If the other runs forward at the sound of his fall, I shall kill him, also.

"If no alarm is given, you can come forward and speak to your cousin. If there is an alarm, you must climb the rope. They will not know which way I have run, and I shall have plenty of time to get over the palisade and pull up the rope; then they will think that the guards have been killed by some of their comrades."

"I hope no such misfortune will happen," Stanley said, gravely, "for there would then be no chance, whatever, of our getting him away. He would probably be moved to some other place, and our one hope would be that we might rescue him on the road; which would be a difficult matter, indeed, if he were sent, as he certainly would be, under a strong escort. However, your plan is no doubt the best for, if I were killed or captured, there would be an end of any chance of his being rescued."

Meinik crawled forward and, in a minute or two, Stanley heard a low hissing sound, followed by two others. He walked forward a step or two to meet Meinik, as he came back.

"It is all right, master; you can go on fearlessly."

Meinik returned with him to the window, and posted himself outside, standing in the shadow; while Stanley stepped in through the open casement which, indeed, was provided only with a shutter outside. This would ordinarily have been closed but, owing to the illness of the prisoner, and the strong desire of the governor that he should live to be sent to Ava, it had been opened to allow a free passage of air.

The trooper sprung from his couch, as Stanley made a slight sound before attempting to enter; but Stanley said, in Hindustani:

"Silence! It is I, Mr. Brooke."

The trooper stared doubtfully at the dark, tattooed, half-naked figure.

"It is I, Runkoor, but I am disguised. I was like this when I spoke to you through the window a fortnight since, but you could not then see my figure.

"Are you awake, Harry?" he asked in English, as he approached the pallet.

"Yes, I am awake; at least I think so. Is it really you, Stanley?"

"It is I, sure enough, man," Stanley replied, as he pressed the thin hands of the invalid. "Did not Runkoor tell you that I had been here before?"

But Harry had broken down, altogether. The surprise and delight was too much for him, in his weak state.

"Of course," Stanley went on quietly, "I knew that he could not speak English, but I thought that he might make signs."

"He did make a sign. Each time he gave me fruit, he said 'Sahib Brooke,' pointed outside, and waved his arms about; but I could not make head or tail of what he meant. Why he should keep on repeating my name, each time he gave me the fruit, was a complete puzzle for me. As to the signs that he made, it seemed to me that he had gone off his head. I have been too weak to think it over, so I gave up worrying about it; and it never once struck me that it was you who sent me the fruit.

"What an awful figure you are!"

"Never mind about that, Harry. I have come in to see how strong you are. I have bribed the two guards stationed behind."

"I can just sit up in bed to take my food, Stanley, that is all. I could not walk a step to save my life."

"I did not expect you to walk. What I want to know is whether you are strong enough to be carried a few miles, on a litter. I have five men from the village where we were, and they can cut through the palisading behind the hut. I want to give you as long a time as possible; but I am afraid that, any day, the governor may have you taken out and sent in a litter to Ava, under a strong escort."

"I could bear being carried out, no doubt; but if I could not, I should think it would do me no harm, so long as my wounds do not break out afresh. I suppose the worst that could happen to me would be that I should faint, before I got to the end of the journey.

"Are you sure, old man, that this is not a dream?"

"Quite certain; if you were well enough, I would give you a sharp pinch. If you are willing to venture, I will make my preparations at once. I have to send to the village; but in three days I shall be ready and, the first night after that the men manage to be on guard together behind, we shall be here. It may be a week, it may be more but, at any rate, don't worry about it if they take you away suddenly. I shall try to get you out of their hands, somehow."

"My dear Stanley," Harry said, with a feeble laugh, "do you know that you are spoiling your chance of an earldom?"

"You may take it that if you don't succeed to the title, old fellow, I sha'n't; for if you go under, I shall, too.

"Now goodbye; it would be fatal were I to be caught here. Try to get yourself as strong as you can, but don't let them notice that you are doing so."

Without giving Harry time to reply, Stanley pressed his hand and left his bedside. He paused for a minute, to inform the trooper of the plans for the escape, and then he got through the window. Meinik joined him at once and, without a word being spoken, they crossed the palisade, threw down the rope and blankets, and dropped after them to the ground.

On their way back to their tree, Stanley told the two men that the officer was better; and that the next morning, at daybreak, one of them must start for the village to fetch their three comrades. The boys were also to come back with him, as they were big fellows and carried spears; and might, as Stanley thought, be useful either in a fight or in assisting to carry Harry.

On the following morning, after the man had started, Stanley went with Meinik to examine the temple more closely than he had done before. He thought that it would be a far better hiding place than their hut in the tree. There would certainly be a hot pursuit, and the next day they might be discovered, whether in the temple or in the tree; but in the latter they would be powerless to defend themselves, for the Burmese, with their axes, would be able to fell it in a few minutes; whereas in the temple a stout defence might be made for a time. Moreover, the rock chambers would be far cooler, in the middle of the day, than the hut.

His chief object in visiting the temple was to find a chamber with a narrow entrance, that could be held by half a dozen men against a number of foes; and it was desirable, if possible, to find one so situated that they might, in case of necessity, retreat into another chamber, or into the open air. Meinik was so confident, in the white man's power to combat even evil spirits, that he approached the temple with Stanley without betraying any nervousness. They had provided themselves with some torches of resinous wood, and Meinik carried a couple of brands from their fire.

The chamber they had before been in was apparently the largest in the temple, but there were several other openings in the rock.

"That is the entrance we will try first," Stanley said, pointing to one some ten feet from the ground. "You see there were once some steps leading up to it. No doubt, where we are standing there was a temple built against the face of that rock; and probably that doorway led into one of the priests' chambers."

It was necessary to pile three or four blocks of stone on the top of the two steps that alone remained intact, in order to enable them to reach the entrance.

"Let me light the torches before you go in," Meinik said. "There may be snakes."

"That is hardly likely, Meinik. You see, the face of the rock has been chiselled flat, and I don't think any snake could climb up to that entrance."

"Perhaps not, master, but it is best to be ready for them."

They lighted two torches, and passed through the doorway. There was an angry hiss, some distance away.

"That is a snake, sure enough, Meinik. I wonder how it got here."

Holding their torches above their heads, they saw that the chamber was some fourteen feet wide and twenty long. In the corner to the left something was lying and, above it, a dark object was moving backwards and forwards.

"It is a big boa," Meinik said. "Now, master, do you take the two torches in one hand, and have your knife ready in the other. If it coils round you, cut through it at once. This is a good place for fighting it, for there is nothing here for it to get its tail round; and a boa cannot squeeze very hard, unless he does that."

Stanley, feeling that in a combat of this sort the Burman would be perfectly at home, while he himself knew nothing about it, did as he was told; determining to rush in, should it attack his follower.

"You can advance straight towards him, master. I will steal round. He will be watching you, and I may get a cut at him, before he notices me."

Stanley moved slowly forward. As he did so, the great snake moved its head higher and higher, hissing angrily, with its eyes fixed on the torches. Stanley did not take his gaze from it; but advanced, grasping his knife. He knew that the boa's bite was harmless, and that it was only its embrace that was to be feared.

He was within some eight feet of the reptile, when there was a spring. The snake's head disappeared and, in a moment, it was writhing, twisting, and lashing its tail so quickly that his eyes could hardly follow its contortions.

"Stand back, master," Meinik shouted. "If its tail strikes you, it might do you an injury. It is harmless, otherwise. I have cut its head off."

Stanley stepped back a pace or two, and stood gazing in awe at the tremendous writhing of the headless snake.

"It is a monster, Meinik," he said.

"It is a big snake, master. Indeed, I should say that it must be about forty feet long, and it is as thick as my body. It would be more than a match for a tiger."

"Well, I hope there are not many more of them about, Meinik."

"That depends, master. It may have its mate, but it is more likely there will be no other. It would eat any smaller ones of its own kind, of course; but there may be some small poisonous ones about."

As the writhing of the snake ceased, Stanley looked round and saw a narrow doorway, in the corner opposite that in which it had been lying.

"Here is a passage, Meinik. Let us see where it goes to."

Meinik had, by this time, lighted two more torches.

"The more light the better," he said, "when you are looking for snakes," and, holding them in one hand and his knife in the other, he passed through the doorway, which was about four feet high.

Stanley followed him. The apartment was similar to the last, but narrower; and was lighted by an opening not more than a foot square.

"See, Meinik, there is a staircase, in the corner facing us."

The steps were very narrow, but in perfect preservation. Without staying to examine the room, Meinik led the way up; examining every step carefully, and holding the knife in readiness to strike. They mounted some forty steps, and then entered a room about ten feet square. Except a window, some eighteen inches by three feet, there was no apparent exit from the chamber.

"I should think that there must be some way out of this place, Meinik. Why should they have taken the trouble to cut that long flight of steps through the rock, just to reach this miserable little chamber?"

Meinik shook his head. The ways of these ancient builders were beyond him.

"There must be an outlet somewhere, if we could but find it. Besides, we have not found where the snake came in, yet."

"He could have come in at the door, master. A small snake could not have climbed up, but that big fellow could rear his head up and come in, quite easily. We have found no little snakes at all."

"Well, that may be so, but I still think that there must be some way out from here. Why should men go to the labour of cutting this long stair, and excavating this chamber here, without any reason whatever? Let us look through the window, Meinik."

It was a passage, rather than a window; for the rock face had been left four feet in thickness. Crawling out, Stanley saw that he was fifty feet above the foot of the cliff. A yard below him was a ledge of rock, some two feet wide. It was level, and had deep grooves cut, at regular intervals, across it. He had no doubt that the roof of the outside temple had started from this point; and that the grooves were made for the ends of massive rafters, of teak or stone. At that time the passage to the chamber that he had left was, doubtless, used for an exit on to the flat roof.

Stepping on to the ledge, he called Meinik to him.

"Now, Meinik," he said, "we will follow this ledge. There may be some way up from it."

Walking with a good deal of care, Stanley made his way along to a point where the ledge stopped, abruptly. Looking down, he saw the remains of a wall of solid masonry, and perceived that he had been correct in his surmise as to the purpose of the ledge. Then they turned, and went back to the other end of the ledge. A few feet before they reached this, Meinik—who was now leading the way—stopped.

"Here is a passage, master."

The entrance was about the same size as that through which they had stepped out on to the ledge but, instead of going straight in, it started upwards.

"Another flight of steps, Meinik. I am beginning to hope that we shall find some way out, at the top. If we can do so, it will make us safe. We could defend those stairs and the entrance for a long time and, when we wanted to get away, we could make quietly off, without anyone knowing that we had left."

Chapter 14: In The Temple.

They went up the flight of steps for a considerable distance, then they found the passage blocked by a number of great stones. Stanley uttered an exclamation of disgust.

"It has fallen in," he said. "No doubt we are near the top of the rock. Either the staircase was roofed in, or there was a building erected over the entrance; and either the roof or building, whichever it was, has fallen in. That is very unlucky. When we go down, we will climb up the hill and see if we can discover anything about it.

"With plenty of food and water," he went on, as they descended into the lowest chamber, "one could hold this place for any time."

"Yes, master, one could store away the food; but where should we store the water? We might bring skins in that would last us for a week, perhaps two weeks, but after that?"

"After that we should make our way off, somehow, Meinik," Stanley said, confidently. "Well, there is no doubt that this is the place to shelter in. They are less likely to find us here than anywhere and, if they do find us, we can defend ourselves stoutly. I should say, too, that if we think it over, we ought to be able to hit upon some plan for making noises that would frighten them. You know how scared the man and the two boys were, at that sighing sound in the other chamber. We certainly could make more alarming noises than that."

Meinik nodded.

"That we could, master. With some reeds of different sizes I could make noises, some as deep as the roar of a tiger, and others like the singing of a bird."

"Then we will certainly bring some reeds in here with us, Meinik. I don't suppose they will mind, in the daytime, what sounds they hear; but at night I don't think even their officers would care to move about here, if we can but make a few noises they do not understand.

"Well, for the present we have done our work here; and you had best go off with the Burman to buy food, to serve in case of a siege. You had better go to some of the cultivators' houses, near the edge of the wood, for rice and fruit. If you can get the food there, you will be able to make two or three journeys a day, instead of one.

"But, before we start back, we will climb round to the top of the hill, and see what has happened to shut up the staircase."

It took them a quarter of an hour's climbing, through the forest and undergrowth, before they reached the upper edge of the rock wall in which the chambers had been excavated. It had evidently, in the first place, been a natural cliff for, when on the ledge, Stanley had noticed that while below that point the rock was as smooth as a built wall, above it was rough, and evidently untouched by the hand of man. Following the edge of the cliff, until standing as nearly as they could guess above the entrance to the steps, they walked back among the trees. At a distance of some thirty yards, they came upon a ruin. It was built of massive stones, like those which strewed the ground where the temple had stood. A great tree rose on one side, and it was evident that its growth had, in the first place, overthrown the wall at this point. Climbers and shrubs had thrust their roots in between the blocks that had been but slightly moved, by the growth of the tree; and had, in time, forced them asunder; and so, gradually, the whole building had collapsed.

"This tree must be a very old one," Stanley said, looking up at it, "for it is evident that this wall was thrown down a great many years ago."

"Very old, master. It is one of our hardest woods, and such trees live, they say, five or six hundred years. There are some which are known to be even older than that."

"Well, it is clear that the staircase came up here; but we have no means of knowing how far the point we reached is below this. I should say that the stones we saw are the remains of the pavement and roof, for you see these great blocks that formed the walls don't go as far as the middle, where there is a great depression. Still, of course, the steps may have come up on one side or the other, and not just in the middle of this little temple—for, no doubt, it was a temple.

"Now, you see, the reason for the steps up to that little square room are explained. Probably those three chambers were the apartments of the principal priests, and from them they could either go out on to the roof of the temple; or could, by taking the upper staircase to this point, leave or enter without observation.

"Now, let us be off."

On arriving at their tree shelter, they found that the Burman had got a meal ready and, after partaking of this, Meinik, with the man, started to buy provisions. It was fortunate that Stanley had, before starting from Prome, drawn some twenty pounds' worth of silver from the paymaster. He had expected to be away for three or four weeks and, during that time, would have had to buy provisions for himself, Harry, and the four troopers; and might possibly have occasion for money for other matters. He had not paid the men from the village, for he knew that one of these would willingly accompany him to Prome, to receive payment for them all.

A very small amount of silver sufficed for the purchase of a considerable quantity of food in Burma. Fruit, of which many kinds grew wild in the woods, was extremely cheap; as was rice and grain. Therefore as yet, with the exception of the small sum expended in Toungoo, his money was virtually untouched.

The two Burmans made three journeys before nightfall and returned, each time, with large baskets of fruit, grain, and rice. On the following morning, they went into the town and bought six of the largest sized water skins—such as are carried for the use of the troops in India, one on each side of a bullock. As soon as they returned with these, they started for the temple. At a stream about a hundred yards from the entrance they partially filled one of the skins and, placing a strong bamboo through the straps sewn on it for the purpose, Meinik and the Burmans carried it to the temple and, with Stanley's assistance, lifted it into the lower chamber. The others were, one by one, placed beside it; then water was carried in the smaller skins and poured in, until they were all as full as they could hold.

"There is water enough to last us for a month, if needs be," Stanley said as, after securely tying up the mouths, they laid the skins down, side by side.

The smaller mussucks were then filled and placed with the large skins; and then, having done a long day's work, they returned to their tree just as the sun was setting. The four men and two boys were already there, they having done the sixty miles from the village without a halt. They had already cooked some rice and some slices of venison—which Meinik had brought, with the water skins, from the town that morning—and were now lying smoking their cigars with placid contentment.

For the next six days Meinik went to the town every afternoon. On his return on the last evening, he said that the guard had told him that the governor had paid a visit to the prison, that day, and had seen the white captive; and had decided that he was now well enough to travel, and that in two days' time he was to start for Ava, the court having sent down an urgent order that he should be carried there as soon as he was well enough to bear the fatigue.

"Then tomorrow we must get him out," Stanley said. "Will our two men be on duty?"

"Yes, master, they have not been on since the last night we were there. They will form the second watch, and will go on guard at midnight. I have bought two very sharp saws, and have cut two strong bamboos for the litter."

This was constructed the next day. It was very simple, being formed by sewing a blanket strongly to the two bamboos. Two slighter bamboos, each four feet long, were tied loosely to the main poles. These were to be lashed across, as soon as they had got beyond the palisade, so as to keep the poles three feet apart—which, as the blanket was four feet, from pole to pole, would allow it to bag comfortably. The cross pieces could not be attached until they were beyond the palisade; for the window was but two feet wide, and it was therefore proposed to make the gap through the palisade the same width, only.

Late in the evening they entered the town, and sat down in a deserted corner until the time came for them to begin their work. At last Meinik said that, by the stars, it was already past midnight; and they then proceeded to the spot where they had before climbed the palisade. Here they at once set to work. The saws were well oiled and, in a very few minutes, five bamboos were cut away, at the level of the ground and six feet above it. As the stockade was bound together by cross pieces, behind, the other portions of the bamboos remained in their places.

Meinik and Stanley went first, followed by three of the Burmans, one of whom carried the litter. The other two Burmans with the boys, remained on guard at the opening. All were barefooted, except that Stanley wore a pair of the lightest leather sandals. They went noiselessly up to the window; the guard, as before, responding to Meinik's hiss. Without a word, one after another entered the chamber. The trooper had been sitting at the table, evidently anxiously expecting their arrival.

Stanley went up to the bed.

"Are you better, Harry?" he asked, in a whisper.

"Better, but still weak."

Everything had been arranged beforehand. The litter was laid down on the ground, with the poles as far apart as possible. Then Stanley made a sign, to the trooper, to take one end of the rug on which Harry was lying; while he took the other. The Burmans ranged themselves on each side; and the blanket was lifted up, with the occupant and the pillow composed of his clothes, and laid quietly on to the blanket of the litter. Then two Burmans went outside, while the other four men lifted the poles and carried one end to the window.

The Burmans outside held the ends well above their heads, Stanley and the trooper raising their hands similarly. The other Burmans then crawled, under it, out of the window. As the litter was moved forward through the window, they took the places of Stanley and the trooper at the poles, and silently moved on towards the palisade. Stanley and Meinik followed, joined by the two Burmese guards.

Not the slightest sound was made, as the eight men crossed the short distance to the palisade and passed through the opening where the others, spear in hand, were awaiting them; ready to rush in and take part in the fray, should an alarm be given. Stanley breathed a great sigh of relief, as they passed out. A few paces further they halted, and the cross pieces were lashed to the poles.

"Thank God that you are out, Harry!" Stanley said, as soon as they did this. "Has it hurt you much?"

"Nothing to speak of," Harry replied. "You managed it marvellously. Am I really outside the place altogether?"

"Yes, fairly out. You will be more comfortable when we have lashed these cross pieces. You will not be lying, then, at the bottom of a bag; as you are now."

When the work was completed, they proceeded at a rapid pace; for Harry's weight, reduced by fever as he had been, was a trifle to his bearers. The others followed close behind and, in a quarter of an hour, they were well beyond the town. Stanley spoke to Harry once or twice, but received no answer; so he had no doubt that his cousin had dozed quietly off to sleep. The gentle motion of the litter would be likely to have that effect; especially as Harry had probably been lying awake, for the last night or two, listening for the friends who might arrive at any time.

When they reached the confines of the forest the torches, which had been carried by the boys, were all lit; and each carried two—with the exception of the bearers, who had but one each—while all kept close together round the litter. They waved their torches as they went and, although they heard the cries of several tigers in the forest, they had no fear of being attacked; as so many waving lights would deter the most hungry beast from venturing near.

Once in the chamber at the temple, the litter was laid down on a pile of reeds and leaves that had been gathered the day before, together with a great store of brushwood and logs. Harry still sleeping quietly. In a short time a bright fire was blazing and, with this and the light of the torches, the chamber assumed quite a cheerful appearance. On the way, Stanley had spoken to the two guards, thanked them for their service, and assured them that they would receive the reward promised by Meinik.

"I am the British officer," he said, "who was at the village with my friend, though I was absent when he was carried off. As you see, I am disguised."

Both had shown signs of uneasiness, when they approached the temple; but Meinik had assured them that the spirits would not venture to approach a party having a white man with them, and that a night had already been passed in the temple, without any harm coming of it. A meal, consisting of slices of venison, was at once prepared and, when this was eaten, and the whole party had lighted cigars, their spirits rose at the success of the enterprise. The soldiers, however, had been disappointed at hearing that there was going to be a stay for some little time there, to enable the wounded man to gain strength.

"We may not stop long," Stanley said; "but, you see, with the litter we could not travel fast; and you may be sure by this time the alarm has been given for, when they came to relieve you at the end of three hours, it would be found that you were missing; and then they would, at once, discover that the captives had gone, too. By daybreak the whole garrison will be out. How many are there of them?"

"There are three thousand men, in the town," the guard said. "After a party of your soldiers came within a short distance of it, two months ago, fifteen hundred men were added to the garrison."

"Well, you see, with three thousand men they could scour all the woods and, if they overtook us, we should be unable to make any defence. Here, we may hope that they will not discover us; but if they do we can make a desperate resistance for, as only one man can enter that door at a time, it would be next to impossible for them to force their way in. You have your guns, and I have a brace of pistols and, as all the others have spears, it will be as much as the three thousand men could do, to get in through that door. If they did, there is a still narrower door in the corner to defend; and beyond that there is a long, narrow, steep flight of stairs, that one man could hold against a host.

"The first thing in the morning, we will carry our stores to the upper chamber. We have water and rice enough to last us for a month, if we are careful; so that, although I hope they won't find us, I shall not be at all afraid of our beating them off, if they do so."

As soon as it was daylight, the stones that had been added to the steps at the doorway were flung down; and then, by their united efforts, the two remaining steps were removed. Then they helped each other up, the last man being aided by two of his comrades, above.

"There," Stanley said; "if they do come to search for us, they are not likely to suspect that we have got a badly wounded man up here. They may search the big chamber that we were in, before, and any others there may be on the same level; but this narrow entrance, ten feet above them, is scarcely likely to attract their attention. If it does, as I said, we must fight it out; but it will be a wonderfully hard nut for them to crack."

He then ordered the men to carry all the stores to the upper chamber. Just as they began the work, there was a slight movement on the bed. Stanley at once went up to it. Harry was looking round, in a bewildered way.

"Well, Harry, how are you feeling? You have had a capital sleep."

"Oh, is it you, Stanley? I was not quite sure but that I was dreaming. Where am I? I must have gone off to sleep, directly we started; for I don't remember anything, after you spoke to me when they were making the hammock more comfortable."

"You are in a temple—some four or five thousand years old, I should say—and this is a rock chamber. The temple itself is in ruins. We are ten miles from Toungoo, and shall wait here till the pursuit for you has slackened. In another week, you will be more fit to move than you are, at present. I should not like to carry you far, as you are now. Besides, if we had pushed on, they would have been sure to overtake us; for these fellows can run like hares."

"But why should not they find us here, Stanley?"

"Well, of course they may do so, but the entrance to this chamber is ten feet above the ground; and another thing is, they have all sorts of superstitions about the place. Nothing would induce them to approach it, after nightfall; and even in the daytime, they don't like coming near it. Lastly, if they do find us, it will take them all their time to force their way in. I have five men, and two young fellows quite capable of fighting; then there are your two guards, Meinik, the trooper, and myself. So you see, we muster twelve. We have two guns, and a brace of pistols, and spears for us all; and if we cannot defend that narrow passage, against any number of Burmans, we shall deserve our fate.

"Besides, there is another, and even narrower door, in the corner behind you. They would have to force that; and in the chamber beyond there is a narrow, straight staircase, some forty feet high, which a man with an axe ought to be able to hold against an army. They are taking the stores up there, now. We have got provisions and water for a month. When everything is straight, there we shall carry you up and, unless they sit down in front of this place and regularly starve us out, we are as safe as if we were in Prome."

"I wish to goodness you had that hideous dye off you, Stanley. I know it is you by your voice but, what with the colour, and all that tattooing, and your extraordinary hair, I don't know you in the least."

"I am in just the same disguise as that in which I made my way down from Ava," Stanley laughed. "I felt very uncomfortable, at first, with nothing on but this short petticoat thing; but I have got accustomed to it, now, and I am bound to say that it is cool and comfortable.

"Now, tell me about your wounds."

"They are not very serious, Stanley. I had a lick across the head with a sword—that was the one that brought me down—and a slice taken out of my arm from the elbow, nearly up to the shoulder. Also a spear-wound in the side; but that was a trifle, as it glanced off the ribs. If I had been left as I fell, and somebody had bound up my wounds at once, I should have been all right by this time. The fellows did bandage them up, to some extent; but the movement of the litter set them off bleeding again, and I fancy that I lost pretty nearly all the blood in my body. I think that it was pure weakness, rather than fever, that kept me unconscious so long; for I gather, from the pantomime of the trooper, that I must have been nearly a fortnight unconscious."

"Yes, you were certainly so when I came the first time, Harry; but I think, perhaps, on the whole, it is lucky that you were. You would probably have had a great deal more fever, if you had not been so very weak; and if you had escaped that, and had gone on well, you might have been sent off to Ava before I could get all the arrangements made for your escape."

"Tell me all about it," Harry said. "It seems to me wonderful how you managed it."

Stanley told him the whole story. By the time that he had finished, the stores had all been taken upstairs; and the fire most carefully extinguished, as the smoke would at once have betrayed them. The cross pieces of the litter had been taken off, to allow Harry to be carried in through the door, and he was now lifted. Two of the men took off their cloths, and wrapped the materials of the bed into these, carrying them up at once. As soon as they had gone on, Harry was slowly and carefully taken to the upper chamber, and laid down again on the bed. Stanley took his place beside him, and the rest of the party went down to the lower room; having received the strictest orders not to show themselves near the entrance, and not to smoke until well assured that their pursuers must have passed on ahead.

The bamboos of the litter were converted into a rough ladder and, on this, Meinik took his post at the little window in the second of the lower rooms. Owing to the immense thickness of the rock wall, he did not get an extensive view, but he could see the path by which anyone coming up through the forest would approach the temple. It was now about half-past seven and, by this time, the pursuers might be at hand; in ten minutes, indeed, distant shouts could be heard, and Stanley at once went down and joined the men below.

He placed himself in the line of the doorway. As the wall here was four feet thick, the room was in semi-darkness and, standing well back, he was certain that his figure could not be perceived by anyone standing in the glare of sunshine outside. The sounds grew louder and louder; and in a minute or two an officer, followed by some twenty men, emerged from the trees. All paused, when they saw the temple. The men would have drawn back at once; but the officer shouted to them to advance, although showing small inclination to do so, himself.

They were still standing, irresolute, when a superior officer on horseback, followed by some fifty footmen, came up the path. He shouted orders for them to search the temple and, as the fear of him was even greater than their dread of the spirits, the whole of the men made their way over the fallen stones, and up to the face of the rock. They first entered the chamber where the horses had been stabled. The officer who had first arrived went in with his men and, coming out, reported to his senior that there had been a fire made, and that some horses had also been there; but that three weeks, or a month, must have passed since then.

"Are you sure of that?"

"Quite certain, my lord. It is extraordinary that anyone should have dared to enter there, still less to stable horses when, as everyone knows, the temple is haunted by evil spirits."

"I care nothing for spirits," the officer said. "It is men we are in search of. Go and look into any other chambers there may be."

At this moment a deep, mournful sound was heard. Louder and louder it rose, and then gradually died away. The soldiers stood as if paralysed. Even the high official—who had been obliged to leave his horse, and make his way across the fallen blocks on foot—stepped back a pace, with an expression of awe. He soon recovered himself, and shouted angrily to the men to go on. But again the dirge-like noise rose, louder and louder. It swelled, and then as gradually died away; but this time with a quavering modulation.

The men looked up, and round. Some gazed at the upper part of the rock, some straight ahead, while others turned round and faced the forest.

"Search!" the officer shouted, furiously. "Evil spirits or no evil spirits, not a man shall stir from here, until the place is searched."

Then rose a shrill, vibrating sound, as if of eerie laughter. Not even the officer's authority, or the fear of punishment, could restrain the soldiers. With cries of alarm, they rushed across the ruins and plunged into the forest; followed, at a rate which he tried in vain to make dignified, by the officer who, as soon as he reached his horse, leapt upon it and galloped away.

The Burmese keenly appreciate a joke and, as soon as the troops had fled, the villagers and guards inside the temple threw themselves down on the ground, and roared with laughter. Stanley at once made his way into the upper room.

"Splendidly done, Meinik! It was like the note of an organ. Although I knew what you were going to do, I felt almost startled, myself, when that deep note rose. No wonder they were frightened."

"Well, at any rate, master, we are safe for the present."

"For the present, no doubt, Meinik; but I question if we sha'n't hear of them, again. That officer was a determined-looking fellow and, though he was scared, too, he stuck to it like a man."

"That is the governor of the town, master. I saw him carried through the streets in his chair. Everyone was bending to the ground, as he passed. He was a famous general, at one time; and they say that he is likely to command a part of the army, again, when fighting begins."

"Well, I think that we shall hear of them again, Meinik. I don't suppose that he really thought that we were here for, certainly, no Burman would take up his abode in this place, even to save his life. They will push on the chase through the woods all day and, by that time, they will feel sure that they would have overtaken us, had we gone straight on. Then I should not be at all surprised if he tries here, again."

"Perhaps he will, master. Like enough, he will chop off the heads of some of the men that ran away, and pick out some of his best troops for the search. Still, I hope he won't think of it."

Stanley shook his head.

"I hope so, too, Meinik. There is one thing about which I feel certain—if he does find us here, he will stay here or, at any rate, leave some troops here, until he gets us. He would know that he would get into trouble, at Ava, for letting the prisoners escape; and it would be all important for him to recapture them.

"Now we are up here, Meinik, we will go and have a look at that upper staircase, again. If we are besieged, that is our only hope of safety."

They again went along the ledge, and up the staircase. Stanley examined the stones that blocked the passage, for some time, and at last exclaimed:

"There, Meinik, look along by the side of this stone. I can see a ray of light. Yes, and some leaves. I don't think they are more than thirty feet above us!"

Meinik applied his eye to the crevice.

"I see them, master. Yes, I don't think those leaves are more than that distance away."

"That is what I came to look for," Stanley said. "It was evident that this rubbish could only be the stones of the root, and pavement over the depression in the middle of the ruin; and that these could not block up this staircase very far. The question is, will it be possible to clear them away? Evidently it will be frightfully dangerous work. One might manage to get one stone out, at a time, in safety. But at any moment, the loosening of one stone might bring a number of others down, with a run; and anyone on this narrow staircase would be swept away like a straw."

Meinik agreed as to the danger.

"Well, we need not think it over now, Meinik; but if we are really besieged, it is by this way that we must escape, if at all. We must hope that we sha'n't be beset; but if we are, we must try here. I would rather be killed, at once, by the fall of a stone on my head, than tortured to death."

Meinik nodded, and they descended the stairs, put out the torches that they had used there, and returned along the ledge to the chamber where Harry was lying.

"So Meinik scared them away," the latter said, as Stanley sat down beside him. "I could not think what he was going to do when he came up here with that long reed, as thick as my leg. He showed it to me, and I saw that it had a sort of mouthpiece fixed into it; and he made signs that he was going to blow down it. When he did, it was tremendous and, as it got louder and louder, I put my hands to my ears. Everything seemed to quiver. The other row—that diabolical laughing noise—he made with a smaller one. It was frightful; but the big note was more like a trombone, only twenty times louder.

"Well, do you think that we have done with them?"

"I hope so, Harry. At any rate, you can be assured that they will never fight their way up here and, long before our provisions are finished, I have no doubt that I shall be able to hit on some plan of escape."

The day passed quietly. The woods were as silent as usual. The Burmans were all in high spirits at the success of Meinik's horn. When it became dark, they hung a blanket before the entrance, placed one of the lads on watch just outside it, and then lighted a fire. Stanley took a couple of torches and went up to Harry, taking the precaution to hang a cloth before the window.

"I have not said much about thanking you, old fellow," Harry said, "but you must know how I feel."

"You had better say nothing about it, Harry. I have only done what you would have done, had you been in my place. Had you been in charge of that party, and I had been carried off, I know you would have done all in your power to rescue me. You might not have succeeded quite so well, because you do not know their language; but I know that you would have tried. After all, I have not run anything like so much risk as I did when I rescued Meinik from the leopard. And he, of course, was an absolute stranger to me.

"Besides, you are not rescued, yet; and we won't holloa until we are out of the wood."

"It is very cool and pleasant here," Harry said, after lying without speaking for a few minutes. "It was dreadfully hot in that hut, in the middle of the day; and I used to feel that I lost almost as much strength, in the day, as I picked up at night. I am wonderfully better this evening. Of course, that long sleep had something to do with it, and the pleasure of being free and with you had still more; but certainly the coolness, and the air blowing through that opening, have counted for something."

"Well, we shall feed you up as long as you are here, Harry; and I hope, in a fortnight, to see you pretty firm on your legs again; and then, if there is nothing to prevent it, we will carry you off triumphantly."

Meinik here came in, with two bowls of broth; for they had bought a few earthenware utensils on one of the visits to Toungoo.

"That is first rate!" Harry said, as he finished his first one. "What is it made of?"

"I never ask questions," Stanley replied—who tried, successfully, to keep down a smile. "Meinik is a capital cook, and turns out all sorts of nice little dishes. Here comes his step again.

"What have you there, Meinik?" he asked, as the Burman entered, with two plates.

"A slice of mutton done on sticks over the fire, master, and some rice with it."

"That is first rate!" Harry said heartily, when he had finished. "They did not give me meat, in prison. I suppose they thought that I was not strong enough for it."

"They eat very little meat themselves, Harry. Now I fancy your dinner is done, except some fruit. We have got plenty of that."

There were, however, some fried bananas, and Harry declared that he had feasted like a king.

"If this goes on, Stanley, I will wager that I shall be about in a week; and shall be offering to run a race with you, in a fortnight."

"You will be a good deal longer than that, before you are fit to walk any distance. Still, with a good appetite—which you are sure to have, after your illness—plenty of food, and the cool air in these caves, I do expect that you will pick up fast."

The next day passed quietly.

"I shall be glad when tomorrow is over," Stanley said to Meinik, the last thing before going up to Harry's cell. "Today I expect they are all marching back again and, if they pay us another visit, it will be early tomorrow morning. Be sure that two men are on watch. They can relieve each other, every hour; and I shall come down myself, occasionally, to see that all is right; but I don't think that even the governor could get his men to come near this place, after dark."

"We will keep good watch, master, but I have no fear of their coming."

Chapter 15: The Attack.

Stanley got up several times during the night, and went below to the watches; as he felt sure they would be nervous for, though they had now, to a large extent, got over their superstitious fears, they would still be timid at night. They reported that everything was still round the temple, but that they had heard distant sounds in the woods; and on the first of these occasions he had, after returning to the room above, gone out on to the ledge; and from that height could see the reflection, in the sky, of a number of fires extending in a semicircle, at a distance of a mile or so from the temple. From this he felt convinced that the governor was determined to have a thorough search made in the morning.

As soon as it was daylight, the sound of the blowing of horns and the beating of drums was heard in the forest and, half an hour later, a large body of men poured out from the trees, headed by the governor, himself.

"Now," he shouted, "this place is to be searched, in every hole and corner.

"As to the evil spirits, there is no fear of them, either by day or night. Did you ever hear of their attacking a large body of men? They may strangle a single traveller, who ventures into their haunts; but no one ever heard of a Burmese army being attacked by them. Now, every man has to do his duty; and the first who wavers, his head is to be struck off, at once.

"Forward!"

The troops rushed impetuously across the ruins, penetrated into the various chambers in the rock and, in a few minutes, all these were reported to be empty.

"There are chambers higher up," the governor said. "We will search them, and—look at that door up there, it must lead to somewhere. Bring stones, and make a stair up to it."

It was evident now that there was no longer any hope of concealment, and Stanley stepped to the entrance.

"My Lord Governor," he shouted, "there is a strong force here, and all your army could not gain an entrance. We do not wish to take the lives of brave men; but if we are attacked we must defend ourselves, and I pray you to withdraw with them, and not to throw away life."

This address from an apparent peasant excited the wrath of the governor, who shouted:

"Shoot him, men!"

But before the order could be obeyed, Stanley had stepped back into the chamber, where he had already ordered the men to stand out of the line of the door. A number of muskets were fired, and several bullets struck the back wall of the chamber. The firing continued, and Stanley said:

"Keep where you are, men, until they have finished; then approach the door for, directly they begin the attack, the men behind must stop firing. They will be some minutes, yet."

He ran quickly up to Harry's room.

"They are attacking us," Harry exclaimed; "oh, how I wish I could come down and help!"

"They can never get in, Harry. British soldiers might do it, but not these fellows. They can only enter two abreast and, with a dozen spear points facing them, what can they do? I thought that I would just come up and tell you it was all right. It will take them five minutes, at least, to pile up stones level with the doorway."

Stanley again joined those below. Meinik, the trooper, and one of the Burmese were to form the first line; the four other Burmese were to stand behind, with their spears, between the men in front; the two guards with their muskets, and the boys were to act as a reserve. Stanley had armed himself with one of the axes, and was to stand by the side of the entrance so that, if the spearmen were pressed back, and any of the assailants succeeded in passing the entrance, he would strike them down.

Presently, there was a silence outside.

"Keep well back," he said. "They have laid their stones, and we shall have a rush, directly; but they will most likely pour in a volley, first."

The pause lasted for a minute or two. Then a drum was beaten, and a hundred muskets were fired. A rain of bullets flew into the cave.

"Now," Stanley shouted, "form up."

A wild yell was raised by the Burmese. Now they knew that they were fighting human foes, their courage returned, and there was a rush of men up the pile of stones to the entrance; but in vain they tried to force their way into the chamber. Those in front fell pierced by the spears and, while the defenders could see their figures against the light, the assailants, coming out from the sunshine, could see nothing in the chamber, which was now darkened by their filling up the entrance. Not once was it necessary for Stanley to strike. The Burmans' spears did their work thoroughly and, in two or three minutes, the entrance was nigh choked up with dead bodies, adding to the difficulty of the assailants.

Pressed on by those behind, the foremost fell over these obstacles, and were instantly pierced by the spears; until it was no longer possible to get through the outer entrance, much less make their way into the chamber. Again and again the attack was repeated and, as often, repulsed. Before advancing the Burmese, each time, endeavoured to clear the passage by drawing out the bodies of their comrades; but the two guards now posted themselves in front, and shot man after man who made the attempt. At last the Burmese drew off, but not till some fifty or sixty had been killed.

The governor was seen gesticulating furiously to a party of officers and, presently, a final attack was made, led by several officers of rank. This was as unsuccessful as the others. The bodies, indeed, of the killed now forming a well-nigh impassable barrier and, after several of the officers and many of the bravest men had fallen, the remainder withdrew suddenly. The governor appeared to recognize that the task was an impossible one; and two or three hundred men were at once set to work felling trees and, by nightfall, a high stockade had been erected round the open ground in front of the temple.

"They are going to try to starve us out," Stanley said. "There is no more chance of fighting, tonight."

As soon as the stockade was finished, musketeers took their place behind it and opened a dropping fire at the entrance, while the woodcutters continued to fell trees.

"We must get rid of these dead bodies, if we can," Stanley said, "or the place will be uninhabitable, in a day or two.

"Get those two bamboos we had for the litter, Meinik. We will push the bodies out, one by one, beginning with those on the top of the heap. We can keep down behind the shelter of the pile, till we have got most of them out. After that, we must take our chance of a shot."

It took them some hours' work but, at last, the passage was cleared, and the bodies all thrown outside. The fire was lighted in the next room; and Stanley, bidding two men listen attentively for any movement, went up again to Harry—to whom he had paid a flying visit, as soon as the Burmese drew off.

"We cannot risk having a light here, Harry," he said. "I don't want them to have any idea that this chamber, which is nearly fifty feet above the entrance, is in any way connected with the rooms below. If such an idea struck them, they might lower men from above by ropes, and so take us in the rear."

"Did you say that we are regularly shut up, in front, by that stockade?"

"Yes; there is certainly no getting out, that way. Behind, you know, it is a sheer wall of rock; and the only possibility, that I can see, is that we may clear a staircase which runs up through the rock, from a ledge on the level of this room, to the ruins of a building above. At present, the upper part is entirely choked up with blocks of stone and rubbish, and it will be a very awkward job to get through it; but so far, it seems to me, it is that or nothing."

"What are they going on chopping down trees for?"

"I believe their general is doing it to bring large numbers of his troops close up to the stockade; partly perhaps to keep up the spirits of the front line, by their company; partly to render impossible any attempt, on our part, to make our way out by a sudden rush. Of course, they don't know what our strength is; but they have had so sharp a lesson, today, that they will take every precaution, in future.

"Well, what is it, Meinik?"

"We have been talking together, master; and we think that, if we were to call out that they might take the bodies away, without any interference by us, they would do so. Several officers of rank have fallen there, and it is our custom always to carry off the dead, when it is possible."

"It would be worth trying the experiment, anyhow, Meinik. But we must all stand to arms, while they are doing it; as they might make a sudden rush. However, we would risk that, for those bodies have been worrying me very much, and I would give anything to have them taken away. I will go down with you."

Meinik accordingly went down to the entrance, and shouted out:

"Peace, peace! I am ordered, by the English officer, to say that he would wish those who have fought so bravely to be honoured, after death; and that no shot shall be fired, and no interference made, with those who come to carry away the dead."

There was silence for two or three minutes, and then a voice called back:

"It is well; for two hours there shall be peace between us."

"I have no doubt the governor is as glad to do this as we are. It is considered a disgrace, if the dead are not carried off the ground to burial; and if he sends despatches to Ava, he will be glad to be able to put in that the brave men who fell have all been buried, with due honours. Besides, Meinik, it would not be encouraging to his troops for them to have that pile of dead bodies before them and, indeed, would be enough to cause a pestilence, in a few days."

The men were formed up again, round the entrance. The Burmese did their work silently. Occasionally a slight movement was heard, but no one could have imagined that a hundred men were busy outside. A number of them carried torches, and all worked steadily and in good order, under the direction of two or three officers. One of the posts of the stockade had been pulled up and through this the bodies were carried. It was less than two hours before a horn sounded, and there was a loud call of:

"The peace is over; all is done."

Beyond the stockade great fires blazed among the trees. The work of chopping down the forest continued, and by the morning the ground had been cleared for a distance of thirty or forty yards from the paling. Then the Burmese raised another stockade forty feet behind the first, so that, if by carelessness or treachery the besieged should manage to pass through the first line, there would yet be another in front of them.

"I expect, master," Meinik said as, standing well back, he watched the men at work, "the general is building this second line, not because he thinks that there is a chance of our getting through the first, but to keep the men at work, so as to prevent them from thinking anything about the spirits. Now that they have passed one night there, they will have got somewhat over their fear and, of course, every day that passes, without ill befalling them, they will think less and less about the evil ones."

"Do you believe in them, Meinik?"

Meinik hesitated.

"Everyone knows, master, that evil spirits guard the treasures of the people that lived in the land long, long ago. No one can doubt that people who have rashly sought the treasures have been found dead, with staring eyes and swollen bodies; but as, at present, they must know well that neither we nor those outside are searching for treasure, they may not interfere."

"Then you think that there are treasures buried here, somewhere?"

"I cannot say, master; everyone says so. The story has been handed down that this was once the greatest of the temples of the old people; and that, when they were defeated by tribes from the east—I know not whether it was us, or some people before us—the priests from all the other temples came here. The remains of their army came here, too, and fought outside the temple until all were killed.

"When the conquerors entered, they found the priests all lying, in regular lines, on the pavements. All were dead. One story is that they had stabbed themselves; another, that they had taken poison. At any rate, no treasures were found; although it was known that the riches of the temple were great, and that all the other priests that had come here had brought the treasures from their temples with them. That was the beginning of the destruction of the place; for the pavement was torn up, and the walls in some places levelled, and the images of the gods broken up in search for the treasures.

"The work of the guardian spirits had already begun. They say that all who took part in the search died, of a terrible pestilence that broke out. Since that time, the place has been accursed. Once or twice, kings have sent bodies of troops to search; and they say that some could never find the temple, but wandered about the forest for days, searching in vain for it. Others found so thick a darkness, like the blackest of smoke, filling the forest, that even the bravest dare not enter. I say not that those things were so; I only say that these are the stories that have come down to us."

"Well, Meinik, we are not going to search for the treasure; and it is evident that the spirits bear us no ill will; indeed, I feel obliged to them, for it is likely enough that the soldiers will put down their misfortune to their influence, and that even the governor may feel that it would be useless to try to get them to renew the assault. This evening we will go up, and have another look at the stairs; and see how we can best set to work to clear them. There is no great hurry about it, but the sooner we set to work, the better."

All day long a dropping fire was maintained on the entrance, by the troops behind the first stockade; but as, with the exception of three men kept always on watch, the defenders were stationed in the next chamber, the bullets pattered harmlessly against the wall. During the night the accumulated dust of ages had been swept up from the floor; and this had been strewn, three inches deep, in the passage between the outer air and the chamber, so as to cover the blood that had been shed there.

As soon as it was quite dark, Stanley, Meinik, and three of the villagers went out on to the ledge in front of the upper opening, made their way along it to the entrance of the stairs, and mounted. They carried with them two or three glowing brands from the fire, in one of the earthenware cooking pots, which was covered with a cloth to prevent the slightest glow being noticed by the enemy. The men, by Stanley's order, brought with them the bamboos of the litter, the saw they had used at the stockade, a hatchet, and some blocks of firewood.

When they got to the point where the steps were choked up, they lighted the two torches—the men who brought up the rear of the party holding up a rug, to prevent any reflection from the torches being seen outside. When Stanley and Meinik had again examined the obstacle, the latter retired; and the Burmans, one by one, came up and looked at it.

"What do you think of it?" Stanley asked them.

"It would be dangerous to touch it, my lord," one of them said. "If only one stone moved out from its place, it would be death to us all. They are firm now, quite firm; but if two or three were disturbed, the whole might come down at once."

"I quite see that," Stanley said. "Can any of you suggest a plan by which we could get out, without much risk of setting them in motion?"

The Burmese were silent,

"I will tell you my scheme then. I propose to cut the bamboos into lengths that will just reach across the passage. It is the lower stones that one is most afraid of. So long as these remain fixed, there is no fear of any general movement but, if they went, the whole mass might come down. This passage is less than three feet wide, and the bamboos are twelve feet long; so that each would make four, the width of the passage. I propose to drive them tightly in, and fix them firmly with wedges. They must be put in so that they will actually touch the stones, so as to prevent their making the slightest downward movement. If they began to slide, no doubt they would carry away the bamboos; but if these were fixed firmly, by wedges, they ought to be sufficient to prevent any movement from taking place—especially as there would be enough of them almost to touch each other, extending from this lowest step, on which the rocks rest, some five feet upwards—that is, to within some two feet of the roof, which would be sufficient for us to crawl through, and the bamboos would serve as a ladder. Then I propose that we should work our way along the top, passing the small stones and rubbish backwards, after filling up all the cracks and crevices below us.

"I see, of course, that we should meet with many obstacles. Great stones may be sticking up, perhaps jammed against the roof; these would have to be broken off, or chipped in pieces. No doubt the work will take time but, at any rate, there is plenty of food for three weeks and, working by turns night and day, we ought to be able to burrow our way out. As we get on, we may not find the stones so tightly pressed together as they are, here. At any rate, as we saw the light above us, only some thirty feet up, there ought not to be above twenty feet of closely-packed stuff to get through.

"No doubt the work will be dangerous, as well as hard but, as we know that if we do not succeed all our lives are forfeited, we can face the danger. Everyone of us will take his share in turn; I shall do so, myself, and shall direct the work in general. What do you think of the plan?"

"I think that it is possible, master," Meinik said. "At any rate, we must try it; since it is the only way that offers us any chance of life."

The Burmese all agreed, and they at once set to work. The bamboos were first cut into lengths; and then, by means of the axe and wedges, were jammed so firmly, from side to side, that it would have required great force to dislodge them. These supports were somewhat irregularly placed, as it was necessary that they should absolutely touch the stones. As they proceeded with the work, the spaces behind the bamboos were filled tightly up with rubble, so as to solidify the whole.

When the last support was in its place, Stanley said:

"Now, Meinik, do you with these three work, tonight; four others will take your place, before dawn. Mind, at first I don't want you to attempt to move any fixed stones; but simply to clear away all small stones, and rubble. You can stow a good deal behind the two upper bamboos. The rest you must put on the stairs. I will see, tonight, what we can manage in the way of tools for chipping away the big stones that cannot be moved. You had better relieve each other very often. The three who are not at work should sit down on the ledge, outside, so that any stone accidentally dislodged will not fall on anyone. Every ten minutes, one will come up to take the place of the man at work. Be sure that each, as he passes up or down, replaces the blanket carefully."

They had, indeed, before beginning to saw up the bamboos, fastened the blanket to one of the cross pieces of the stretcher and, cutting this to the width of the passage, had jammed it close up to the roof; so that the curtain, hanging down, effectually shut off the light.

Stanley then descended the steps, and rejoined Harry below. Before going down further, Stanley, who had during the day informed Harry of his plan, told him of the start that they had made.

"Of course, it all depends upon what stones you meet with," Harry said. "If you come to a big solid block, I don't see how you are going to get through it."

"We have the hatchets, and can whittle it away; and perhaps we can make some chisels, from the ramrods of your guards' guns. A lot can be done, with patience and plenty of hands."

Stanley then went down below, and explained to the others the plan proposed. The news gave them great satisfaction; for although Meinik had told them there was a staircase above blocked with stones, it had seemed so impossible, to him, to clear it that he had placed no stress upon the fact; and the preparations made by the enemy to cut off any possible retreat had greatly depressed them.

Stanley took one of the iron ramrods and, raking some of the embers from the fire, placed it in them, about a foot from one end; then he directed the others to fan the embers, until they raised them almost to white heat. Taking the ramrod out, he laid the edge of one of their knives upon it and, striking its back with a stone, soon cut through the glowing rod. He repeated the operation and had, then, three short rods of equal length. He now heated one end of each and, laying it on an axe on the ground, hammered it into chisel shape with the back of a light hatchet; repeating this several times, until it had the required shape and sharpness; then he plunged this into a pot of water. He did the same with the other two; and had, now, three chisels with which he hoped to be able to chip away the stones. The other ramrod he left intact, except that he sharpened one end.

Then, going up to Harry's room, he lay down and slept for some hours; putting the two boys on watch, and bidding the trooper look after them. The two Burmans, with one of the guards, were to go to work with him. Several times he woke. The last time, on looking out, he thought that there was a faint light in the sky and, going down, called up the three men and, bidding them bring up the two heavy axes, a light hatchet, and the three short chisels, he led them up the steps to the working party.

"How have you got on, Meinik?"

"We have cleared four feet, master; but there is a big stone sticking up, now, and we can do nothing with it."

"We will have a try, and do you all go down, at once.

"Take off your cloth, one of you, and fill it with this rubbish on the steps. Do it as quickly as you can. The day will be breaking, in a few minutes."

Stanley now climbed up, and investigated the passage. The bottom was level. Every crack and crevice between the stones being filled up with rubbish. The obstacle Meinik had spoken of evidently formed part of a flat slab. It reached within an inch of the roof and, at one side, touched the rock wall; at the other there was an interval, of some four or five inches, and the earth and rubbish had already been scraped out from behind it. Putting his hand in, he found that the block was some four inches in thickness.

He thought that if he could but get a fair blow at it, with the back of one of the heavy axes, he might break it off; but this was impossible. The total width of the passage did not exceed three feet; and as the men had, as they went, worked down somewhat, there was now about thirty inches between the bed of earth and rubbish, on which he was lying, and the roof. Taking the handle of the axe in both hands, he used the head as a battering ram; but without any success. He then called up the slightest of the three men, and told him to crawl in beside him and, with their united strength, they pounded the stone for some time. Finding that nothing could be done this way, Stanley sent the man back again; and then, taking one of the three chisels and a small hatchet, he proceeded to mark a line along the bottom of the stone; and then, for ten minutes, worked away on it with the chisel and hammer. Then he called up one of the others, and showed him what he was to do. All day they worked by turns and, though progress was very slow, by nightfall the groove was half an inch deep.

Stanley and the strongest Burman then went in together and, lying on their backs again, tried the effect of the heavy axe; but still without success. Then Stanley told the man to get down and take out the wedge, at the top of the axe; and to cut away the wood below the head, so that the latter would slip down, four or five inches; then to take off the head of the other heavy axe and put it on above it, and replace the wedge. In a few minutes, the man rejoined him.

"We must strike it as near the roof as we can," Stanley said. Both grasped the handle firmly. "We will sway it backwards and forwards three times and, the third time, strike.

"One, two, three—hooray!"

As the two-headed axe, driven with their united force, struck the stone, there was a sharp crack.

"That has done it," Stanley said, turning over.

There was a dark line along the groove, and the top of the stone inclined back, two inches from the perpendicular; being kept in its place by the rubbish behind it. Stanley put his hand into the hole, and got his fingers behind the stone; while the Burmese put the chisel into the crack, and used it as a lever. In two or three minutes the stone was moved out of its position, taken out of the hole, and laid down on the steps.

Half an hour later Meinik came up, with a trooper, another guard, and one of the boys; and was delighted to find that the obstacle, which had seemed to him fatal to their hopes, had been removed. Stanley showed how they had carried out the work; and then, with his party, went down into the rock chambers.

"It was pretty tiring work, Harry," he said, "though we were only at it about a quarter of an hour, at a time. My wrists and arms and shoulders are aching, as if I had been beaten with sticks. Tomorrow I will take up a good supply of firewood. The chisels got blunted before we had worked an hour; and we should get on a deal faster, if we could sharpen them frequently."

"Is the stone hard?"

"No; it is a sort of marble, I think. We had the underpart of the slab on our side, and I did not think of looking when we took it down. Anyhow, it was not very hard and, with a good strong chisel and a short, heavy hammer, I am sure we could have done it in an hour.

"Anyhow, it is a comfort that nothing came down on top of us. I examined the pile carefully, and there had not been the slightest movement among the lower stones; so that part of the difficulty seems to have been got over.

"Now, I must go down and get something to eat, and then I will go in for a good sleep. You are feeling all right, I hope?"

"Could not be doing better, Stanley. I have eaten three solid meals, today; and have been sitting up on the edge of my bed, for some time. I tried standing, but it was no go; still, I do think that, in a day or two, I shall manage it."

For six days the work continued. One party watched, another slept, and the third worked, by turns. Some of the stones gave much greater trouble than the first they had met with; but having the fire close by proved a great assistance, as the chisels could be frequently sharpened. The men became more accustomed to the work, and the steady progress they made greatly excited their hopes.

At the end of the week, but one stone barred the way. This, however, was much the most formidable that they had encountered. It seemed to have been a pillar, or a huge gate post; and was square, measuring some twenty inches on each face. The obstacle was all the more formidable, as the upper end was inclined towards them, greatly increasing the difficulty in using the chisel. Beyond this, as far as they could see, there was merely a mass of smaller stones.

The party who had been working upon this block were much disheartened, when Stanley went up to relieve them. Owing to the inclination of the stone, their chisels could get but little bite and, though they had been working for six hours at it, they had scarcely made any impression; indeed, at only one point had they so far broken the face that the chisel would cut. Meinik had come down two hours before, to report to Stanley the nature of the obstacle and, when he went up, he took with him the second ramrod, which had not hitherto been used.

He saw at once that, as Meinik had told him, it would be impossible to get through this block by the same means as before for, as the groove deepened, the labour would become greater and greater and, from the inclination of the stone, they would in time arrive at a point where the axe could no longer be used to strike the chisel.

The point at which the slight indentation had been made was nearly at the corner of the stone. This was gradually enlarged, by hammering upon it with the head of the axe and, after an hour's work, the surface had been so far pounded that the chisel could get a flat hold upon it. Then Stanley and one of the Burmans lay down, and placed the cutting end of the long ramrod against it; and the others, by turns, struck the end with the back of a light hatchet, those holding the rod turning it, slightly, after each blow. Every half hour the edge of the chisel was resharpened and, by the time the next party relieved them, a hole of half an inch in diameter, and two inches deep, had been drilled in the stone. Stanley remained with the newcomers for half an hour, instructing them in the work, and then went below.

"Well, Stanley, what are you going to do with this monstrous stone Meinik tells me of?"

"There is only one thing to do with it, Harry; that is, to blast it. The block is so inclined that one can do nothing with the chisels, and we are now drilling a hole. I don't know that I shall succeed but, at any rate, I am going to have a try. If it fails, I must hit on some other way. The provisions are holding out all right; and Meinik calculates that, with a little stinginess, we could manage for another three weeks. We have drilled the hole in two inches today and, as we get more accustomed to the work, I dare say we could do three inches in each shift. The block is twenty inches through on the straight, and may be two feet on the line that we follow; so that in four days we shall be nearly through it.

"In three weeks we shall have made five holes, which will weaken it so that we may be able to break it off. However, I hope we shall find one hole sufficient. I shall make it fifteen inches deep, and then charge it with the contents of a dozen cartridges. I think that ought to do it."

In two days and a half, the hole was of the required depth. Harry had progressed so rapidly that he was able, that morning, to walk across his room.

"We must try the shot, at once," Stanley said, "because if it fails, we must go on working. If it succeeds we can, if we like, wait for another week before we make off. By that time you will be strong enough to be got through that low passage, and walk for a little distance; when we can cut some poles, and rig up that hammock again.

"Do you know anything about mining, for I know nothing? I only had an idea how to drill the hole from seeing some engineers at work at Agra, years ago; but I am sure I don't know how they fired the shot, or prepared it."

"I can tell you a little about it, Stanley; for I have been down a coal mine once or twice, and watched the men doing it. They first of all put in the charge; then they put in a wooden rod, just the thickness of the fuse they use; then they dropped in a little dry dust round it, which they pressed down very carefully, with a small wooden rod; then they damped some dust, and hammered that down hard. After putting in about half an inch of this, they used dust slightly moistened, beating it down as before. When it was quite full, they pulled out the centre stick, and put the fuse into the hole that it left."

"We have not got any fuse," Stanley said, "but I think that if we take a narrow strip of cloth, moisten it, and rub gunpowder into it; let it dry, and then roll it up, it would be all right. Then we could lay a train of damp powder to it, set the end alight, and bolt."

"I should think that that would do," Harry agreed, "but you would have to bolt very sharp for, if it went off before you got to the bottom of the steps, it might be very awkward."

"I don't think the effect of the shock will be as great as that, Harry. It may crack the stone, but I should hardly think it would send anything flying out of the hole."

Chapter 16: Rejoining.

Every day, since the siege had begun, the defenders had fired an occasional shot at the stockade; not with any idea of doing any damage, but in order that the assailants should know that they were still in the cavern. That evening, when the hole had got to the proper depth, Stanley, having prepared his fuse, went up with twenty cartridges in his pocket, accompanied by Meinik. The hole was charged and tamped, and the fuse inserted. This took a considerable time. The fuse had been cut so that an inch of it projected outside the hole. The other eight cartridges were then broken up, and the powder moistened; and a train some two feet long laid, from the fuse towards the entrance of the hole. Then a piece of rag was wrapped round one end of the ramrod; and this, again, was tied to a long rod that had, the night before, been cut by one of the boys, who had slipped out noiselessly from the entrance. The rag had been moistened, and rubbed with gunpowder.

"Now, Meinik," Stanley said, "everything is ready. This rod is sixteen feet long, so that, lying down, my feet will be just at the edge of the hole; and I shall be able to drop down, as soon as I have lighted the train, and bolt. I shall fix a torch, a foot or so from the train; then I shall only have to lift the rod to it, light the rag, set fire to the train, and then slide down and bolt.

"Now, you must go down first."

"No, master," Meinik said firmly; "I will light the train. I do not think that there is any danger but, whether there is or not, I shall undertake it. If I am killed, it does not matter; while if you were killed all would be lost for, if the explosion did not burst the stone, I am sure that we should never be able to get through it, without you to direct us. No, master, if you stay, I stay; and that would only lessen our chances of running down the steps in time."

Stanley argued, and even ordered, but Meinik was obstinate and, seeing that the faithful Burman was not to be moved, he reluctantly left the matter in his hands, and went downstairs. He moved a short distance along the ledge, and waited. The time seemed an age to him, so that he gave an exclamation of delight when Meinik suddenly came into sight, and took his place beside him.

"I have lit the train, master. The powder fizzed up, but did not seem to burn very fast."

It was, indeed, another two minutes before a deep muffled roar was heard. There was no further noise, but they heard shouts from the Burmans, behind the stockades.

"They will be wondering what the sound is," Stanley said, "but they will not be able to tell from what direction it came; for I expect they were pretty nearly all sound asleep. Now, let us go up and see the result."

They made their way up the steps, which were now in entire darkness. The curtain still hung in its place, some ten feet below the obstacle. They lit a torch, from the embers in the pan; and then Stanley climbed up into the passage, and hastily crawled along.

He gave a cry of satisfaction, as he approached the end. The explosion had been completely successful—the end of the block lay on the ground. Whether the whole of it had been blown off, or not, he could not see; but he felt sure that the greater portion must have split off. It was evident that it would take a considerable amount of time, and would require the strength of several men, to get the block out. They therefore descended, at once, to gladden the hearts of those below; with the news that the way out was now available to them, whenever they chose to leave.

Harry manifested no surprise, whatever, at the news.

"I made sure that you would succeed, Stanley. After getting me off, as you did; and making your own escape, before, it seems to me that you have got hold of the 'open sesame' of Ali Baba, and have only to use the cabalistic words to walk in and out, wherever you want to go."

"I don't feel, by any means, so certain of my own powers as you seem to be, Harry; and I can assure you I was very doubtful whether that shot would succeed. I hoped, at any rate, that it would blow a good bit of the stone out and, in that case, we could have got the chisels to work again. It was the slanting position of the block that beat us. However, thank goodness, the work is done now; and you have only to get a bit stronger, and we will be off."

"I am quite ready to start now, Stanley. I think it is absurd waiting any longer, for there is never any saying what might take place. That Burmese general, who seems to be an obstinate beggar, might take it into his head to place a guard on the top of the hill; and then all your labour will have been thrown away."

"That is true enough, Harry; and as I really don't think that travelling now would be likely to do you any serious harm, I will decide on tomorrow. At any rate, I will take some men up, at once, and get that stone out."

The task was a difficult one. The block of stone was so nearly the size of the passage that they could not get a rope round behind it and, after trying for two hours, in vain, they determined that the only course was to push it before them. They soon found, however, that this was impossible; and that a part, at least, of the stone was remaining in its place. Finally, they succeeded in pushing a loop in the rope over the top of the block; and then, by main force, eight of them pulled it out of the hole, and lowered it on to the top step.

By the time that they had done this, dawn was approaching; and they therefore returned, at once, to the chambers below.

The men were all much pleased, when Stanley told them that they would leave that night. Confident as they felt that the Burmese could not force their way in, a new feeling of nervousness seized them, now that the way was open, lest some unforeseen circumstances might occur to prevent their going. The rice that remained was made up into three or four packages. The meat had long before been finished.

Stanley had a discussion, with Meinik, as to how Harry had best be taken through the passage. He could, they agreed, walk along the ledge, with one before and one behind to steady him; and could then be carried up the steps, in a blanket, by four men. He must, of course, be lifted into the passage, and dragged through it to the end; after that, it would be easy enough. Six men could carry him, in a blanket, until far enough away for them to chop poles, without the sound of the axes being heard by the Burmese.

From the time they began their work, every pains had been taken to deaden sounds. The blanket hung across the passage had acted as a muffler, to some extent; but a piece of cloth had always been tied over the hammer heads of the axes, to prevent the sharp clinking sounds of the blows on the chisels, or stone, being heard.

As soon as it was dark enough for them to pass along the ledge, Meinik went with Stanley to examine the ground. Fortunately, the portion of stone that remained above the level, and prevented the rock from being rolled back, was but small; and they were able to break it up in half an hour, with the axes. Then, making their way along without difficulty for another four feet, they found themselves standing upright in the depression in the centre of the ruin. Mounting six more steps, they were among the bushes that covered the site of the temple.

They now carefully cleared away every fragment of stone from the floor of the passage and, returning, Stanley gave orders for the start to be made. Two or three shots were fired, from the lower entrance, to show the enemy that they were there and on the watch; and then all went up to Harry's room. He had been dressed, for the first time, and was ready for the start. Two of the strongest of the Burmans went on first.

"Now, Harry, you are to put your hands on my shoulders. Meinik will follow close behind you, and will keep his arms round you, in case you need help. Of course, we shall go along very slowly."

"I don't think that all these precautions are necessary," Harry said. "I am sure that I can walk that distance, easily enough. Why, you say the stair is only about forty feet."

"I dare say you could, Harry; but we don't want to run any risks. Your head is not very strong, at present; and you might turn giddy, or you might stumble. So, at present, you will have just to do as you are told.

"Let us start."

Harry did not find it as easy as he had expected, getting out through the lower opening; and he was by no means sorry to have the support of Stanley and Meinik, as he proceeded along the ledge. They moved very carefully, and slowly; and all were greatly relieved when he sat down, on a blanket laid on the steps.

"Now lie back, Harry. We shall have no difficulty in getting you up here."

Two Burmans took the upper end of the blanket, Stanley and Meinik the lower, and they were soon at the top of the steps.

"You are not very heavy now, Harry; but you are a good deal heavier than you were, when we brought you in below.

"Now, the next is the most difficult part of the work—once we get you through this passage, it will be plain sailing. You see, you will have to be dragged. The place is only two feet high, so that it would be impossible to lift you at all. We have made the floor as smooth as we can, but I am afraid that there are a good many projecting corners, that will try you a good deal."

"It cannot be helped, Stanley. Fire away, as soon as you like."

The rest of the party were now all gathered, on the steps below; and Meinik and Stanley, getting up first into the hole, received Harry as the others lifted him and, with the aid of two of the Burmans, laid him on his blanket in the passage.

"Now," Stanley said, to the two men who took the other end of the blanket, "keep it as tight as you can and, when I say 'lift,' we will all lift together, and move him forward a few inches. Do not hurry over it—we have plenty of time before us."

They were packed so closely that they had each but one arm available. Little by little they moved him along, gaining some six inches, each time; then all had to move, so as to place themselves for the next effort. However, in five or six minutes they had him through, and carried him up into the open air. The rest of the party at once joined them and, with three of the natives on each side of the blanket, they were soon beyond the circle of ruins, and making at a brisk pace through the forest. After going for a quarter of a mile they stopped, cut some poles for the hammock and, in a short time, were on their way again; having placed in it one of the bags of rice, as a pillow for Harry.

They travelled for some hours, and then halted to cook some rice. All had slept a good deal during the day so that, after resting for an hour, they proceeded on their way again. They had no fear, whatever, of pursuit; and the only danger that they could incur was from meeting with a band, similar to that which had carried Harry off. When they rigged up the hammock, they had cut wood for torches, to protect themselves from tigers. These were thrown away, as soon as daylight broke.

At midday they halted again, for another hour; and then, continuing their journey, arrived at the village before nightfall. They were received with great joy, the villagers setting up a shout of welcome—the friends of the men and boys being especially exuberant in their joy, for they had become extremely anxious at their long absence. The two troopers were still there; and these saluted Stanley, with less than the usual stiff formality of the Mohammedan soldier.

He himself laughed.

"I don't look much like a British officer, at present," he said, in their language. "Well, has everything been quiet here?"

"Yes, sahib. A sowar brought us orders, from the general, to remain here; and to send at once, if we heard any news of you. We sent off one of the villagers, when the man came back to fetch the others, and said that you had good hopes of getting Lieutenant Brooke sahib out of the hands of the Burmese."

"I will write a note," Stanley said. "Get your horse saddled, at once. Directly we have made Mr. Brooke comfortable, I will give you the letter."

During the time that Stanley had been absent, the houses had been re-erected, and the village had assumed its general appearance. A hut was at once handed over to them, and Harry laid on a bamboo pallet. He had not slept, most of the way down.

"You see I was quite right, Stanley. I told you that the journey would be nothing."

"Fortunately, it has turned out so. Meinik has already killed a chicken, and will make it into broth for you. It will be a change, for you, after your diet of rice. The cooking was excellent, for the first three or four days; but it fell off sadly. That was one of the reasons why I gave way to your wish to start at once. You have done wonderfully well, but a constant diet of rice is not quite the thing for building up a sick man.

"Now, I am going to write a few lines to the general to say that you have got safely down, but will need at least another week before you are able to sit on a horse. Of course, you can be carried on; but I think that the air here is a great deal more healthy, and bracing, than it is at Prome and, the longer you stay here, the better."

Stanley's note was a short one. It merely said that he had succeeded in getting his cousin, and the trooper who was carried off at the same time, from the hands of the Burmese, but that Harry was still very weak; and that, if he himself could be spared, he would stay with him at the village for another week or ten days, at the end of which time he would ride, by easy stages, to Prome.

Three days later, the trooper returned with a note from the general.

"I congratulate you most heartily on having rescued your cousin," he wrote. "By all means, stay where you are until he is quite strong again. This place is not at all healthy, at present. We shall not be moving forward for another three weeks."

Stanley remained at the village for another fortnight and, at the end of that time, Harry had so far recovered that he was quite capable of making a short day's journey on horseback. Two of the men who had aided in the rescue had gone to Prome, with an order from Stanley on the staff paymaster, for the rewards that had been promised to the villagers and the two Burmese soldiers. They returned with the money, and the men were all highly delighted at the result of the expedition.

Stanley retained the services of the two soldiers, as long as he remained in the village. He had no fear, whatever, of the same band returning that had, before, visited the village; and he learned that no others had been heard of in the neighbourhood but, at the same time, he thought it as well that a man should be on guard, night and day, at each end of the village. The peasants agreed to watch at one end, while the two Burmese soldiers and the troopers took charge of the other end. The bulk of the villagers were engaged in forming a strong stockade round, it to defend themselves in case of further attack; and Stanley promised to send them down twenty muskets, and a supply of ammunition, as soon as he got to Prome.

There was real regret, on the part of the Burmese, when the time came for the party to start. It had been something altogether new to them to have officials among them who paid for everything. These Englishmen had treated them kindly, and were pleased and contented with everything. The money that the five men and two boys had earned had enriched the village, and had enabled them to more than replace their losses by the recent raid and, if Stanley had accepted all the presents of fruit, fowls, and eggs they would have given him, he would have needed a couple of extra horses to convey them. A strong pony had been purchased for Meinik and, after taking a hearty leave of the villagers, the party rode off.

"I wish we had such a good cook as your man is, Stanley," Harry said, as they journeyed along at a walk. "I never tasted better soup than he serves up. I must really get him to teach our mess cook how to make it."

"Do you know what it is, Harry?"

"I have not the least idea; it might be anything. I think that it tasted, to me, more like stewed eels than anything else."

"You are not very far out. It is made of the creatures you turned up your nose at—snakes."

"Nonsense, Stanley!"

"It is, I can assure you. I would not tell you before, because it might have set you against it. That soup you had in the cave was made from snake flesh. The recesses in parts of the caves swarmed with them, and the men laid in quite a store of them, before we were besieged. Unfortunately they would not keep well, even in these cool chambers, so we had to fall back on rice. You liked it so much that, though there was no occasion to have gone on with snake soup, after we got to the village, I continued to give it to you; for it is very nourishing."

"Well, I am glad you did not tell me, at the time; but I must own that it was excellent, and I think that, in future, I shall have no objection to snake in that form."

"They are just as good, in other ways," Stanley replied. "The Burmans are no fools, and I consider that snake and lizards are very much better eating than their mutton; which is tasteless stuff, at the best."

"We shall have to have a big settlement, when we get back, Stanley. Of course, all those men you paid, and the guards you bribed, are entirely my account; to say nothing of my share of the general expenditure."

"The general expenses are practically nothing, Harry. I invited you to come with me and, of course, you were my guest. As to the other matter, that also is my business. I would not say so, if I had not plenty of funds, but what with my pay as interpreter, and the year of back pay that I got when the Gazette came out, I have plenty out of my income to pay for it, without breaking in upon the amount I told you I had got for those rubies."

"I should pay you, Stanley, if you were rolling in money. Not that I should mind taking money from you, if I wanted it, but my expenses since I landed here have not been anything approaching my pay and allowances; and I have besides, as I told you, an income of 500 pounds a year of my own. You have risked your life for me, and I am not going to let you pay the piper, as well."

"All right, if it pleases you, Harry. I am delighted at having been able to save you and, just at present, money does not seem an important matter one way or the other; so if it really would be a satisfaction to you to pay, I will certainly not deprive you of it."

Although they only travelled ten miles the first day, Harry acknowledged that he was as tired as a dog when he dismounted; and was so stiff, the next morning, that he had to be helped on to his horse. However, this gradually wore off and, on the evening of the fourth day, they arrived at Prome. Leaving Harry at his regimental camp, Stanley rode to the headquarters, and there dismounted. Meinik had led the second horse, after Harry dismounted; and now took them both across to the lines, with the air of a man who has only been away a few hours. Stanley at once went up to the general.

"Welcome back, lad!" Sir Archibald said. "You have been longer away than we expected, when you started. I am glad, indeed, that you succeeded in rescuing your cousin; and we are all burning to hear about it. I wrote that note to you in a hurry, for I was on the point of going on a round of inspection of the camp, when your sowar arrived. I intended to question him concerning you, on my return; for I had no idea that, after making such a long journey, he would start back at once, but I found that he had ridden straight off, directly the note was handed to him. You must dine with me, today, and tell me all the story. I see, from the colour of your skin, that you have been in disguise again."

"Yes, sir. There were materials for dyeing the skin in the village, but nothing that availed to take it off. It is gradually going and, as I shall be now able to get some strong alkali, from the doctor, I hope I shall be presentable by tomorrow."

"They are honourable marks," the general said, with a smile. "I don't think any of us would mind being so coloured, for a bit, if we had done such good work as you have; but I won't detain you now, for dinner will be ready in half an hour."

Stanley hurried to his room, took a bath, donned his mess uniform, and was ready by the time the bugle sounded. Three or four of the staff were, as usual, members of the party. After the meal was over, he was requested to narrate his adventures, at full length. The story was necessarily a long one and, when he concluded, all joined the general in hearty commendation for the manner in which he had carried out the adventure.

"Your last story was a stirring one, Mr. Brooke," the general said; "but this is even more so. When I received your first note, I thought it next door to madness for you to try to get your cousin, badly wounded as you knew him to be, from the hands of the Burmese. It is not an easy thing to get any man out of prison but, when the man was unable to help himself, it seemed well-nigh impossible; and I was greatly afraid that, instead of saving his life, you would lose your own. Of course, the fact that you had successfully traversed the country before was strongly in your favour; but then you were unencumbered, and the two things were, therefore, not to be compared with each other. I shall, of course, put you in orders tomorrow as having performed a singularly gallant action, in rescuing Lieutenant Brooke of the 47th and a sowar from their captivity, by the Burmese, in a prison at Toungoo.

"You have arrived just in time for, after endeavouring to fool us for the past three months, by negotiations never meant to come to anything, the enemy are now advancing in great force, and are within a few miles of the town. So we are likely to have hot work of it for from all accounts, they have got nearly as large an army together as Bandoola had. I don't know whether they have learned anything from his misfortunes, but I am bound to say that the court does not seem to have taken the lesson, in the slightest degree, to heart; and their arrogance is just as insufferable as it was before a shot was fired."

Stanley learnt that there had already been one fight. The enemy were advancing in three columns. Their right—consisting of 15,000 men, commanded by Sudda Woon—had crossed the Irrawaddy, and was marching down the other bank; with the apparent object of recrossing, below Prome, and cutting the British line of communication. The centre—from 25,000 to 30,000 strong, commanded by the Kee Wongee—was coming down the left bank of the river, accompanied by a great fleet of war boats. The left division—15,000 strong, led by an old and experienced general, Maha Nemiow—was moving parallel with the others, about ten miles distant from the centre, but separated from it by a thick and impenetrable forest. A reserve of 10,000 men, commanded by the king's half-brother, occupied a strongly fortified post at Melloon. In addition to these, a large force was gathered near Pegu, and threatened an attack upon Rangoon.

On the 10th of November, a fortnight before Stanley's return, two brigades of native infantry—under Colonel M'Dowall—had marched out to dislodge Maha Nemiow; whose division threatened to turn the British right, and to move round to its rear. The force was divided into three columns; one moving directly towards the enemy's position, the others—marching by circuitous routes, so arranged as to arrive at the point of attack at the same time—were to attack in flank and rear, while the main body assailed the enemy in front. The Burmese had, however, obtained information from spies of the intended movement and, advancing boldly, met the British columns half way; skirmishing with them hotly in the woods, and threatening an attack by large bodies of horse.

The centre drove the Burmese before them, and reached their stockaded position. Colonel M'Dowall, while reconnoitring it, was killed by a ball from a musket and, as the two flanking columns did not arrive as expected, the force was compelled to fall back. The retreat was conducted in good order, but the loss was heavy, as the Burmese pressed hotly upon them for several miles.

Since this unfortunate affair, the enemy had steadily advanced. Maha Nemiow had moved directly upon Prome; advancing slowly, and constantly stockading himself. The centre had also advanced; and was now fortifying some heights above the river five miles away, within sight of Prome. Sudda Woon was intrenching himself on the opposite bank. All these divisions were working, day and night; advancing steadily but slowly, and erecting formidable lines of intrenchments as they went; and it seemed to be the intention of the Burmese general to proceed in that manner, until the whole of his troops were gathered within a very short distance of the town, and then to rush upon it from all sides.

In the morning, Stanley went to the lines of the 47th. Harry had, of course, told his story on his arrival; and the tale had circulated generally through the regiment and, as he rode in, the men ran out from their huts and cheered him heartily. No less warm a greeting did he receive from the officers, in spite of his protest that there had really been no great difficulty or danger in the affair.

"What I specially admire," one of the officers said, laughing, "is that any man should have run all this risk, on purpose, to prevent himself from coming into an earldom. You had only to leave the matter alone, and there you were—heir to title and estates."

"I should have been haunted by Harry's ghost," Stanley laughed. "It would have been as bad as Banquo and Macbeth; he would have sat at my table, and stood at the head of my bed. No, no; that would have been a much more serious affair, to face, than a party of Burmese. The title and estates would have been too dear, at the price."

"Well, you behaved like a brick, anyhow," the colonel said, "and there is not a man in the regiment who would not have been proud, indeed, if he had accomplished such a feat. Half my subalterns were talking, at dinner last night, of learning the language so that, if the chance fell in their way, they might emulate your doings."

"It is rather a tough language to master," Stanley replied. "It gave me more trouble than the four or five Indian languages I speak. I am afraid the campaign will be over, a long time, before any of your officers learn to talk Burmese well enough to pass as natives."

After the failure of the expedition of the 10th, no further effort had been made against the enemy. Indeed, the troops had been withdrawn from their outlying positions; and there had even been a feint made of embarking stores, as if with the intention of retiring down the river, in hopes of tempting the Burmese to make an attack.

The season had now come when operations could again be carried on, and the general was anxious to strike a decisive blow at the enemy, and then to set forward on the march towards Ava. As to the result of the fight, no one entertained the slightest doubt; although the disparity in numbers was very great for, while the Burmese commander had nearly 70,000 men at his disposal, Sir Archibald Campbell had no more than 6,000, of whom about one half were British.

It was determined that the main attack should be made on the division of Maha Nemiow. This was now some six or seven miles away and, beyond the fact that it was very strongly intrenched in the jungle, no information whatever could be gained; for the most vigilant watch was kept up by them, and all efforts to pass native spies into their lines failed. But it was known that among his division were 8,000 Shans, from Upper Burma and, as these men had not hitherto come in contact with us, it was expected that they would fight with more courage and resolution than those who had become acquainted with our power.

A large number of princes and nobles were with the force; and great reliance was placed, by the Burmese, upon three young ladies of high rank; who were believed by them to be endowed with supernatural gifts, and to have the power of rendering the missiles of the English innocuous. These young women, dressed in warlike costume, constantly rode among the troops; animating them by their presence, and exhorting them to deeds of courage. The English had received vague rumours of the doings of these Burmese Joans of Arc, and thought it probable that the enemy would fight better than usual.

On November 30th, arrangements were made for attacking the enemy on the following morning. The flotilla were to open a furious cannonade upon their works, on both sides of the river. A body of native infantry were to drive in the advance posts of the centre; while the main force was to attack their left in two columns, one moving directly against it, while the other was to attack on the right flank—thus preventing the enemy from retreating in the direction of the centre. Four regiments of native infantry were left in Prome.

General Cotton commanded the main attack and, soon after the column moved out from the camp, a tremendous cannonade showed that the flotilla was engaged with the Burmese, on both sides of the river. The column, which was composed of the 41st and 89th Regiments, with two battalions of native infantry, proceeded some distance before becoming engaged with the enemy's outposts; as the Burmese had been deceived by the cannonade, and believed that the attack was entirely upon the centre. The troops therefore reached their main position, around two native villages, without serious opposition.

As they issued from the jungle into the cleared space in front of the stockade they rapidly formed up, under a tremendous fire, and rushed forward to the attack. The old Burmese general—who was too infirm to walk—could be seen, carried from point to point in a litter, cheering on his men, while the three Amazons exposed themselves fearlessly to the fire. The ladder parties, however, rushed forward unchecked and, in spite of the opposition of the enemy, scaled the stockade at one point, and won a footing on the rampart of earth behind it. Others pressed after them and, soon, a destructive fire was opened upon the crowded mass, pent up between the outer stockade and the next. The Burmese method of forming stockade behind stockade was useful, against a foe of no greater dash and energy than themselves; but was absolutely fatal when opposed to English troops, who gave them no time to fall back through the narrow openings in the palings. These were soon blocked by the dying and dead.

Some of the Shans, led by their chiefs, fought with desperate courage; but were unable to stand the advance of the British, whose steady volleys, poured in at distances of a few yards, swept them away. Wounded horses, rushing wildly about in the throng, added to the terrible confusion. Groups of men endeavoured to cut a way through the stockades behind, others strove to climb over. Maha Nemiow was killed, while bravely exhorting his men to stand their ground, and one of the heroic Amazons was shot. As soon as the troops reached the spot where she fell, and saw that she was a woman, she was carried into a cottage; and there died, a few hours afterwards. Stockade after stockade was carried, until the whole position fell into our hands.

In the meantime the other column, commanded by General Campbell himself, and consisting of the 13th, 38th, 47th, and 87th Regiments, and the 38th Madras Infantry, had moved down on the other side of the Nawine river; and taken up a position to command the ford there, by which the fugitives from the stockade must cross, on their way to join the centre. As the crowd of frightened men issued from the jungle, and poured across the ford, the artillery opened upon them with shrapnel, and completed their discomfiture. All thought of joining the centre was abandoned and, re-entering the jungle, they scattered; and the greater portion of them started for their homes, intent only on avoiding another contest with their foes. Another of the Burmese heroines was killed, at the ford.

Three hundred men had been killed, at the storming of the stockade; but a far greater loss took place in the retreat—very few of the Shans ever regaining their country; the greater portion perishing from starvation, in the great forests through which they travelled in order to escape the Burmese authorities, who would have forced them to rejoin the army.

Chapter 17: The Pride Of Burma Humbled.

As soon as the victory was completed, the troops piled arms; and were allowed two hours' rest. Then they marched back, to the point where General Campbell's division had forded the Nawine river in the morning. From this point, a path led towards the enemy's centre; this it was determined to attack, at daybreak on the following morning, before the news of the defeat of its left could reach it.

The day had been a long and fatiguing one, and it was late before the troops all reached their halting place. A meal was served out, and then all lay down to rest. A messenger was sent to Prome, to announce the success that had been gained; and to request the commander of the flotilla to open fire, in the morning, as soon as the foe was seen to issue from the jungle in front of the Wongee's main position at Napadee.

Long before daylight, the troops were in motion. General Campbell's division led the way, along the narrow track leading towards the river; while General Cotton, who followed, was ordered to break off at any path which led towards the Burmese division, to make his way through the forest, and to attack the stockades directly he reached them. The main division would attack, as soon as they heard his guns.

After a two hours' march, the first division came out on open ground by the river side, signalled their arrival to the flotilla, and formed up in front of the stockaded heights of Napadee. The position was an extremely strong one. The enemy occupied three ranges of hills, rising one behind the other, and each commanding the one in front of it. One flank of these hills was protected by the river, the other by the almost impenetrable forest. The hills were all covered with stockades and, as they moved forward, the troops were exposed to so heavy a fire from an enemy entrenched at the edge of the jungle on the right that, before they could advance further, it was necessary to first drive them from this position. Six companies of the 87th were sent back into the forest and, making their way through this, came down in the rear of the stockades, speedily cleared them of their defenders, and compelled the advance force of the enemy to join their main body.

The troops then moved forward to the foot of the first hill, where two strong redoubts had been erected by the enemy. The fleet opened fire; but the column was halted, for a time, awaiting the sound of firing that should tell them General Cotton's column was engaged. No sound, however, was heard, for this force had been unable to make its way through the dense forest; and General Campbell, at last, gave the order for the attack.

It was commenced by the 47th and 38th Native Infantry, under Colonel Elvington; who pushed through the jungle and forest, until they reached some of the flanking outworks on the hill. These they attacked with such dash and determination that they speedily obtained possession of them, and thus produced a favourable diversion for the main attack.

This, consisting of the 13th, 38th, and 87th Regiments, advanced steadily, without returning a shot to the incessant fire from the enemy's various entrenchments; captured the two redoubts at the bottom of the hill; and then pressed upwards, carrying position after position at the point of the bayonet, till they arrived at the summit of the first hill.

The Burmese fugitives, as they fled to the next line of defence, shook the courage of the troops there; and the British, pushing forward hotly on the rear of the flying crowd, carried work after work until, in the course of an hour, the whole position, nearly three miles in extent, was entirely in their possession. Between forty and fifty guns were captured, and the enemy's loss in killed and wounded was very great while, by desertion alone, the Wongee lost a third of his army. While the attack had been going on, the flotilla had passed the works protecting the river face of the hills, and had captured all the boats and stores, filled with supplies for the use of the Burmese army.

Thus, two of the three Burmese divisions had now been completely routed; and there remained only that of Sudda Woon, on the other side of the river. The troops were allowed two days' rest and, on the morning of the 5th, a force advanced on board the flotilla. Their passage across the river was covered by the fire of a rocket brigade and a mortar battery—which had on the previous night been established on an island—and they landed at some distance above the enemy's stockades. They then marched round and attacked these in flank and rear, while the batteries and boats of the flotilla cannonaded them in front.

The enemy's troops were already disheartened, by the defeat they had seen inflicted upon the Wongee's army and, after a feeble resistance, fled to a second line of stockades in the jungle to their rear. The troops, however, pressed so hotly upon them that they were unable to make any effectual opposition here. Numbers fell, while endeavouring to pass through the narrow entrances of the work; and the rest fled, in terror, into the woods.

These extensive operations had been carried out with the loss of six officers, and some seventy or eighty men, only.

It was known that the enemy had very strongly fortified several positions, in and around Meaday; and it was determined to push forward, at once, on the long march of three hundred miles to Ava, before the enemy could rally from their defeat, and gather for the defence of these positions. On the 9th the first division, under General Campbell himself, started from Prome. The roads were extremely bad, and they were able to move but slowly.

Their course was first directed inland; as it was intended to turn the enemy's position at Meaday, by following a road several miles from the river, and thus forcing them to fall back as we advanced. On the next day the force reached the spot where Colonel M'Dowall had been killed, in the unsuccessful attack upon Maha Nemiow; and it then turned north, and followed the road parallel to the river.

On the 12th tremendous rains, for some hours, converted the road into a morass and, although the march was but five miles long, the greater portion of the column failed to reach its destination. This, however, was not the worst. Cholera broke out at once, and carried off a large number of victims—two of the British regiments being rendered almost unfit for service by its ravages.

On the 14th the division encamped on dry ground, on a ridge of wooded hills, and waited for a couple of days to allow the baggage train to come up. The change greatly benefited the health of the troops, and amusement was afforded by the partridges, jungle fowl, and deer which abounded in the neighbourhood of the camp.

Up to this point, no single native had been seen. The villages were all destroyed, and the country was completely deserted. On the 16th a strong Burmese fortification was taken, it being unoccupied save by a small picket, which retired on our advance. This had evidently been erected for the purpose of preventing the river fortifications from being turned, and its abandonment proved that the object of the land march had been gained; and that the enemy had abandoned the positions they had, with so much care, prepared for the defence of the river.

On the 18th they joined General Cotton's column and, the next day, entered Meaday. Here a terrible spectacle was met with. The town and the ground within the stockades was strewn with dead and dying; some from wounds, others from cholera—for the ravages of this plague had been as great, among the Burmese, as in the British force. A number of men were found crucified on gibbets, doubtless as a punishment for attempting to desert. The air was pestilent; and the force was glad, indeed, to march on the next morning from the locality.

They gained something, but not much, from the change. For the next fifty miles, dead bodies were met with at very short intervals and, each day before camping, many corpses had to be removed before the tents could be fixed.

It was now known that the Burmese army, in its retreat, had been concentrated at Melloon, where the reserve of 10,000 men had been posted. On the 27th, the division encamped within four miles of that town. They had now marched a hundred and forty miles, from Prome, without meeting a single inhabitant of the country, or being enabled to obtain any cattle, whatever, for the supply of the troops, so effectually had the enemy wasted the country as they retired.

Melloon stood on the opposite bank of the Irrawaddy; and letters had arrived from that town saying that a commissioner had arrived, from Ava, with full powers from the king to conclude a treaty of peace. Colonel Adair and Stanley, accordingly, were sent off the next morning to Melloon, to arrange for an immediate meeting for the commissioners. However, they could come to no arrangement, the Burmese leaders insisting that so important a business could only be carried on when a favourable day arrived; and that no time could, at present, be stated. Seeing that the principal object of the Burmese was to gain time, the colonel informed them through Stanley that, as no arrangements had been made, the troops would recommence their advance as soon as he returned to the camp and, accordingly, the next morning the division moved forward to a town immediately opposite Melloon.

That place stood on the face of a sloping hill and, as the Irrawaddy was here but 600 yards broad, a good view was obtained of the fortifications. The principal stockade was in the form of a square, about a mile on each face, mounting a considerable number of guns—especially on the side facing the river; and a succession of stockades extended for a mile farther along the banks. The great work was crowded with men. In front of the town lay a large fleet of war boats, and larger craft with stores.

A short time after the troops reached the spot, a great noise of gongs, drums, and other warlike instruments arose on the other side, and crowds of boatmen were seen running down to the vessels. These were soon manned, and oars got out, and they began to row up the river. As, owing to the intricacy of the channel, the steamboat and flotilla had not yet arrived, a few shots were fired at the boats by the field guns. This had the desired effect, many of the boatmen jumping overboard, leaving their craft to drift down the river; while the great bulk hastily turned their vessels about, and anchored in their former position.

As soon as the steamer with the flotilla came up, two war boats pushed off from shore, saluted the steamer, and rowed alongside of her until she and the flotilla were safely anchored above the town. This was so evidently a mark of a real desire for the suspension of hostilities that the two officers were again sent across the river. A truce was agreed upon, and an arrangement made for the meeting of the negotiators, upon the following day.

Four meetings were held, between the two commissioners and those appointed by the British general, the meetings taking place on boats moored in the centre of the river. At length the treaty was accepted and signed, by the Burmese, and fifteen days' truce allowed for the ratification of the treaty by the king. As the end of that period approached, the Burmese protested that they had not yet received an answer, and asked for further time; which was refused, unless on the condition that Melloon was evacuated, and the Burmese army fell back until the ratification of the treaty reached them. As had been for some time strongly suspected, the negotiations were simply a device to arrest our advance; and the treaty was afterwards found in the Burmese camp, it never having been forwarded to Ava.

At midnight on the 18th, when the armistice came to a conclusion, the troops began throwing up earthworks, the heavy guns were landed from the flotilla and, at ten o'clock the next morning, twenty-eight guns were in position ready to open fire. In spite of remonstrances that had been made, the Burmese had, night after night during the armistice, continued to work surreptitiously at their entrenchments. It was hoped for a moment that, when they saw the speed with which our batteries had been thrown up and armed, they would offer no farther resistance. As, however, they were evidently preparing for action, our guns opened fire at eleven o'clock.

This was kept up for two hours. While it was going on, the troops intended for the assault were embarked in boats, some distance up the river, so as to ensure their not being carried by the force of the stream across the face of the Burmese works, and exposed to the concentrated fire of the enemy. They were divided into four brigades; the first of which—consisting of the 13th and 38th Regiments, under Lieutenant Colonel Sale—were to land below the stockade, and to attack its south-western angle; while the other three brigades were to land above it, to carry some outworks there, and to attack the northern face.

A strong northerly wind, and the violent current, prevented the assaults being made simultaneously. The first brigade was carried too far across and, as it passed the stockade, was exposed to the fire of the guns and musketry of the river defences; while the three other brigades were unable, for some time, to reach their intended landing places. Colonel Sale was among those wounded by the Burmese fire but, directly the first brigade reached the shore, they formed up under the partial cover of a shelving bank and, led by Lieutenant Colonel Frith, moved forward to the assault in admirable order. When within a short distance there was a forward rush, in spite of the storm of shot. The ladder party gained the foot of the stockade and, placing the ladders, climbed up, and leapt down among the surging crowd of the enemy. Others followed and, soon, a firm footing was obtained in the works. Then the men of the two regiments—whose total strength did not exceed five hundred—advanced steadily, drove before them some 10,000 armed men, and expelled them from the works that the Burmese had deemed impregnable.

While this was going on, the other three brigades had landed above the stockade and, now falling upon the enemy as they poured out from their works, completed their defeat. All the stockades were carried, and the whole of the artillery and stores fell into our possession.

Four days later, the army again began its advance. They were met by four Englishmen, who had been taken prisoners; and an American, who had also been held in confinement. These had been sent to assure the English general that the king was in earnest in his desire for peace. It was but too evident, however, that no confidence could be placed in Burmese negotiations; and it was, moreover, known that another army was being assembled, in the greatest haste, to bar the advance.

On the 14th of February the British reached Pakang-Yay, having passed Sembeughewn on the opposite shore. This was the point where the road from Aracan reached the Irrawaddy, and it had been arranged that the force that had been operating in Aracan should, if possible, effect a junction with Sir Archibald Campbell here. A message brought down by a native was, however, received; stating that the force had suffered very severely from fever and cholera, and that the natural obstacles were found to be too great to be overcome by troops debilitated by disease—that the attempt had, therefore, been abandoned. Fortunately, the English general was well able to do without this addition to his strength. He had already proved that his command was perfectly capable of defeating any Burmese force that could be brought against him, and an addition would only have increased the difficulty of transport.

On the 9th of March the British force which, owing to the necessity for leaving strong bodies to hold Melloon and other points that had been captured, now mustered less than 2,000 fighting men, advanced to attack the enemy, whose numbers were estimated at 16,000.

The new commander of the Burmese adopted other tactics than his predecessors. His stockaded position was in front of the town of Pagahn, but he occupied the jungle in great force, and attacked our advance guard, five miles from the town. As the enemy occupied the hills on both sides of the main road, Sir A. Campbell divided his force and led half of it through the jungle on the right, while General Cotton led the other half through the woods on the left.

The Burmese fought with considerable obstinacy. General Campbell and his staff, with thirty-eight troopers and fifty men of the 13th, were somewhat in advance of the column; when the enemy closed in on both flanks, and even got in their rear. These were, however, dispersed by the rest of the 13th and, driving back the Burmese on the flanks, the advance was continued. Presently, however, as the British issued from the jungle, a mass of the enemy's horse charged down, drove back the skirmishers and, for a time, the position of the general and his staff was one of great peril. His little body of troopers, however, dashed boldly at the assailants and held them in check, until the guns that had followed the staff were brought forward from the jungle. Then the troopers divided and rode right and left; and the guns, opening fire, checked the assailants until the infantry came up.

The Burmese army was now seen, drawn up in the form of a semicircle, in the open. The two British columns were united and, together, moved forward to attack the centre of the crescent, disregarding the fire from its wings. When within charging distance, they went forward with a rush and, cheering lustily, fell upon the Burmese; and broke their centre, thus isolating the two wings. The Burmese at once retreated, with the greatest haste, to the stockaded position in their rear. As usual, the narrow entrances to the stockades caused great delay; and the British were upon them before they were, in any way, prepared to resist the assault.

Heralding their advance by sweeping volleys, they fell upon the Burmese with the bayonet, and drove them out of their works. The enemy made an attempt to rally, behind the walls and in the pagodas of the town, but the effort was vain. They were driven out with great slaughter, hundreds were drowned in eudeavouring to swim the river, and the army was finally dispersed in all directions.

The effect of this victory was at once apparent. The country people—who had, on the advance of the British force from Prome, been cleared out from the villages along the whole line of route—being now freed from the restraint of their troops, came flocking back in great numbers—some by the roads and some in boats—and it was evident that they regarded the struggle as definitely terminated. There was, indeed, no possibility of further resistance; as the armies of Burma, raised with immense difficulty and by heavy bounties and the promises of great reward, were hopelessly scattered, and Ava lay open to the British advance.

In other directions their position was equally desperate. Aracan had been wholly rescued from their grasp. A British force in Pegu had marched up the river Sitang and, after the repulse of a party of a hundred and fifty men, imprudently sent to attack Sitang itself, captured the place after a sharp fight and, receiving reinforcements from Rangoon, continued their way up the river and captured Toungoo; while the northern force had driven the Burmese out of Manipur, and had reached the river Ningti by the 2nd of February, and were in a position to advance direct upon Ava.

After a halt of two days, General Campbell advanced on the 12th of February. Mr. Price, the American who had been sent down after the capture of Melloon, went forward to Ava with the treaty that had been drawn up before the capture of that place; and the king had no longer any hesitation in complying with its terms—and was, indeed, delighted to find that the recent victory of the invaders had not increased their demands. He at once sent down to accept them but, as no official ratification was sent, the march continued; while Mr. Price again returned to Ava. When the force was within four days' march of the capital, the latter returned with the Burmese commissioners and other high functionaries, with the ratified treaty, and the first instalment of the money that was to be paid.

It was a disappointment to the army that, after their long march and many sufferings, they were not to be allowed to enter the enemy's capital in triumph. Undoubtedly, however, the course taken was the wisest. Ava was regarded as a sacred city, and it was to save it from the humiliation of being occupied by the invaders that the king had brought himself to accept the terms of the treaty. Had the English general insisted upon entering the capital, and signing the treaty there, he would have found no one to meet him. The population would have been driven out, the king and court would have retired farther up the country, and the war might have continued for an indefinite time.

Already its cost had been enormous, exceeding 5,000,000 pounds sterling. During the first eleven months after landing at Rangoon, nearly half of the Europeans died and, from the time they advanced from that town with fresh reinforcements from India, to the arrival near Ava, a similarly heavy loss was sustained. Four percent of the number engaged was killed in action. The climate of Aracan was still more deadly, as three-fourths of the white troops employed there died, and very few of the survivors were ever fit for service afterwards. The sepoys suffered less in Aracan, losing only ten percent of their number, though nearly half the force were in hospital for some time.

According to agreement the Burmese, as soon as peace was concluded, sent down a large number of boats for the conveyance of the troops down the river. As they descended it, the garrisons left at Melloon and other places were withdrawn. One of the native regiments, with some elephants and guns, left the force at Sembeughewn; and marched thence to Aracan, for the purpose of investigating the country, and proving whether it was practicable for the passage of troops in case another advance upon Ava should ever be necessary. They found the road unexpectedly good, and met with no resistance whatever, except in the passage of some passes over the mountains.

At Melloon, Stanley was very glad to meet his cousin again, for the 47th had been left in garrison there. Harry had been down again, with a sharp attack of fever, but was now recovering.

"So it is all over, Stanley, and your chances of an earldom have nearly slipped through your fingers."

"I am glad, indeed, that it is so," Stanley laughed, "in the first place, because I could only have succeeded to it at your death; and in the second place, because I have no ambition, whatever, for a title. I am not nineteen yet, and should greatly prefer to make my own way, than to find myself with nothing whatever to do, except to spend money as it dropped into my lap.

"Now that everything is settled, and that Aracan has become English, and we have the seaports on the Tenasserim coast, trade will increase tremendously. You may be sure that the Burmese will be only too glad to flock into our provinces, and to live under a fair rule, to escape the tyranny of their own officials; and my uncle is just the man to take advantage of the new openings. I don't say that I want to live out here all my life. At any rate, I hope by the time that I am thirty, to be able to come home for a year's holiday; and it is just possible that, by then, we may have grown into such a big firm that we may establish headquarters in London, instead of getting all our goods from Calcutta.

"There is certain to be a very big trade here, in teak alone. The price in Pegue is a great deal below that in India and, if we had a house in London, we should avoid having to pay commissions, and perhaps get better prices for our wood. Of course, my uncle may by that time think of retiring himself and, in that case, I might have to stay somewhat longer out here; but I know that he likes the climate, and I have heard him say that, as he has very few acquaintances in England, he thinks that he should prefer a life in Calcutta to one in London."

"I should not wonder if I go home, very shortly," Harry said. "My last letter told me that my uncle was in failing health, and that he would like to have me at home with him. If the next letter confirms that, I am afraid I shall have either to resign my commission, or exchange into a regiment at home. Of course, at his death I should have to leave the army, anyhow. It would be ridiculous for a subaltern to be an earl; besides, there are things one would have to do. I suppose there are estates to be looked after, and all sorts of nuisances.

"Anyhow, I shall always be glad I have had my share in this expedition. I have learned what campaigning is; and I must say that, under such circumstances as we have gone through, it is not quite so pleasurable as I had expected. Half one's friends are dead or invalided home; and one never knows, when one wakes in the morning, whether one may not be down with cholera before night. The fighting is all well enough but, after all, that takes up but a very small portion of one's time; and marching and, I may say, living generally in this hot, sweltering climate, with its six months of rain, is not enviable work. However, I have gone through one regular campaign, and that as severe a one as British troops have ever performed; and above all, old man, I have met you, and we have come to be great friends, and I have learned what one fellow will do for another."

"I am sure I am very glad to have gone through it, too. I have been fortunate, indeed, in never having been laid up for a single day; and there is no doubt that having served on the staff will be of great advantage to me, even as a trader. I own that I should like to have retired a captain. Of course, promotion has been tremendously fast, owing to the death vacancies, but I have still two lieutenants over me."

"You are sure to get the step, Stanley. You have been in general orders twice, besides that notice you got for my rescue. Also, the doctors say that a number of the men who have been sent down to the coast are not likely to live many weeks and, as five of your seniors have been invalided, you may get your step, in the natural course of things, at any moment.

"If I were you, I should ask for three months' leave before rejoining your regiment. There will be no difficulty about that, after you have been upwards of two years in constant work; and the general will certainly not refuse. Before the end of that time you will have seen your uncle, and talked matters over. Then, if you choose to resign your commission, you can of course do so but, as you are pretty sure to get your step, by death, before the end of the three months; and as the general's despatches strongly recommend your services, you may get your brevet majority before your resignation reaches England. A man who has been mentioned two or three times in despatches, and is specially recommended for honours, is sure to get his brevet majority directly he gets his company."

On reaching Rangoon, Stanley learned that two of the invalids had died, either on the way down or before they could be put on board a ship; and that one of the majors, who had been sent to India for change, four months before, had also succumbed; so that he had already obtained his company—a promotion which would have been, at any other time, extraordinary; but which, in a campaign where half those engaged were carried off, was nothing remarkable. Being still on the headquarter staff, he embarked with Sir Archibald Campbell.

"You still hold firm to your determination to leave the service, Captain Brooke?" the general said, in the course of the passage to Calcutta.

"Yes, sir. I am sure that it is best for me."

"I think it is, Brooke. Of course, you have been exceptionally fortunate in getting such rapid promotion. Still, a good business is a great deal better than soldiering. I wrote very strongly in your favour, when I sent off my despatches the day we came down to the coast; and you are certain of your brevet. Still, it is just as well that the news of your resignation should not get home before the Gazette comes out, with your name in it. I think the best thing that I can do is to give you leave, for a time, as soon as we get to Calcutta. I am sure that you deserve a rest, for your work has been terribly heavy."

"Thank you, sir; that was just the favour that I was going to ask you. I shall find out, as soon as I get there, where my uncle is; and join him. My own mind is quite made up, but he has certainly a right to be consulted, before I take any final step."

"Quite right. I feel no doubt that his opinion will agree with yours; and I think that you are showing a good deal more wisdom than most fellows would do, to give up the service when you have distinguished yourself, and have a much better chance than falls to the lot of one man in a hundred. Still, there can be no real doubt that a man in a good business, out here, can retire early and go home with a fortune; while in the army you are liable at any time, after you get to the rank of colonel, to be laid on the shelf for years.

"Besides, you will be your own master, which is more than anyone in the army can say. You can go home when you like, either for a stay or for a permanency; and you are not liable to have to run the risk of another campaign such as this has been."

"If one was sure of campaigns, I don't think that I could possibly bring myself to leave the service; but it is the probability of being kept, for three or four years at a time, doing nothing at Calcutta or Madras that decided me."

The general nodded.

"You are quite right, Brooke; on active service a soldier's life is, indeed, a stirring one; but there is nothing more dull and monotonous than garrison life, in peace time."

Accordingly, as soon as they landed in Calcutta, Stanley was put in orders for absence on leave, for three months. He learned, from his uncle's agent, that they had heard from him only a few days before, at Chittagong; and that he was then on the point of leaving for Aracan, whither he had ordered a large consignment of goods to be forwarded to him, by the next ship.

Three days later, Stanley started to join him, leaving his address at Aracan with Sir Archibald Campbell, in case there should be need to recall him before the three months' leave expired. The vessel in which he was sailing carried the consignment of goods to his uncle; and he had, therefore, no fear of finding that the latter had left Aracan before his arrival. Meinik was still with him. He had left the army after the last battle had been fought, and had travelled to the spot where he had buried his money before embarking with Stanley in the canoe and, after an absence of three days, rejoined the force. On the way down to Rangoon, Stanley had a long talk with him as to his future plans.

"I have only one plan, master, and that is to stay with you, as long as I live."

"But you will have plenty to live comfortably upon now, Meinik. For, after all that you have done for me, of course I shall arrange for you to have a sum that will keep you in comfort."

Meinik shook his head.

"Burma is a bad country, master. After living with the English, I would not go back to live under the king's officers, in any case. Any money that I had would be squeezed out of me, before long. No, master, I will go with you, unless you drive me from you; if you do, I will go to Chittagong, and live there, but I do not think that you will do that."

"Certainly not, Meinik. As long as you are willing to remain with me, I shall be very glad, indeed, to have you; but if, at any time, you wish to marry and settle down on land of your own, I shall give you five hundred pounds—which is only a small portion of the sum those rubies, which you got your band to give me, brought me in."

"I daresay I shall marry," Meinik said, "but that will make no difference. As long as I live, I shall stay with you."

Meinik had been astounded at Calcutta; which presented a strong contrast, indeed, to the city which, as a Burman, he had regarded as the most important place in the world.

"The Burmese are fools, master. They should have sent two or three men here, before they made up their minds to go to war. If they had been truly told what Calcutta was like, they would never have ventured to make war with the English."

Chapter 18: In Business Again.

When the vessel arrived at the mouth of the Aracan river, a canoe was seen coming out from Akyah—a town situated at the entrance to the principal of the several channels by which the river makes its way, through a number of sand banks and islands, into the sea. As it approached, Stanley recognized his uncle sitting in the stern.

"Well, uncle, how are you?" he called out, as the boat approached the side.

"What, is it you, Stanley? I am glad, indeed, to see you. I have watched the papers anxiously, to see if your name appeared among those who have been killed or have died; not seeing it, I hoped that you were all right. Of course we heard, from the Madras regiment that came across from Sembeughewn, that it was all over; and that all the troops would be shipped off, as soon as they went down to Rangoon; but I have not seen any papers lately, and so have not had a chance of learning any news of you. I fancied, though, that you would be back at Calcutta by this time; and thought that I might get a letter from you, by this ship."

By this time he was on deck, and after a hearty shaking of hands, Stanley asked what he was doing here.

"I did not expect to see you until we got to Aracan."

"I have been up there, lad. It is a decaying old place, and the stream is in many places shallow; so that it would be very difficult to take up a ship of any size. I foresee, therefore, that this is going to be the chief port of the province—timber will be floated down here, and rice brought down in native boats—so I shall make my headquarters here, as far as this district is concerned, and put Johnson in charge. I doubt whether, for a time, we shall do as much trade as we shall higher up the coast; but everyone expects a great Burmese immigration, and a large trade is likely to spring up, in time.

"I have not quite determined on my next move, and it is not improbable that I shall go down in this ship and establish myself, for a time, at Martaban; and open a trade in Tenasserim. If I decide on that, I shall only get on shore a portion of my goods, and take the rest on with me there.

"Now, what are you going to do, Stanley?"

"Just what you think best, uncle. I should have thought that, as I speak the language, it would be better for me to go on to Martaban; and for you to work Chittagong, and the district up to Assam."

"Then you are going to stay with me, lad!" his uncle exclaimed, in a tone of much satisfaction. "I was afraid that you would have got so fond of soldiering that you would have thrown this over, altogether."

"Not a bit of it, uncle. I am on three months' leave at present and, at the end of that time, I shall resign. You know I am a captain, now—that is to say, that I have got my rank by death vacancies, though until the Gazette comes out from England, I can hardly be said to be a pucka captain; and, what is more, the general himself assured me that, after being mentioned in despatches two or three times, and at his strong commendation of my services, I was sure of the brevet rank of major."

His uncle took off his hat, gravely.

"I must apologize to you," he said, "for addressing you as 'lad.' I had no idea that you were a full-grown captain, still less that you might soon be a major."

"I don't care a snap for the title, uncle," Stanley said, laughing, "except that it may be an advantage to me, in places where there are garrisons; and indeed, generally where there are white officials."

"A very great advantage, Stanley.

"Well, lad, I have been coining money, since I saw you at Rangoon. I have been sending a consignment of bullocks down there, every week; and have done almost as much with the Manipur force. I have also got the contract regularly, now, for the supply of the troops at Calcutta. Other trade has, of course, been at a standstill. Now that everything has quieted down, there will be a perfect rush; and I have been sorely troubled, in my mind, whether it would be best to stay up here and take advantage of it, or to be one of the first to open trade at these new ports. Of course, if you are ready to take Martaban, that will decide me; and I shall take passage in the first ship going up to Chittagong. My own boat and the dhow are both there, and I shall at once work up all the rivers, and set things going again.

"I have a capital fellow, a native, who is carrying on the cattle business for me and, at Chittagong, I shall try and get hold of three or four more trustworthy fellows, to take charge of depots. I see a big future before us, and that before long. I did well with those gems of yours—they fetched 3500 pounds, which I used, besides what you handed over to me—for there was no buying up the cattle without cash and, as I generally have to wait two months after they are shipped, before I get paid, ready money was invaluable and, indeed, I could not have gone into the thing on anything like the same scale, if it had not been for your money. The Calcutta people would have helped me, to a certain point; but they would never have ventured upon such advances as I required. Your 5000 pounds has doubled itself since I met you at Rangoon. I calculate that our stores at the different depots are worth 4000 pounds so that, at the present moment, the firm of Pearson & Brooke have at their command a capital of 14,000 pounds."

A portion of the cargo was landed at Akyah. Stanley went down with the rest to Martaban, and his uncle sailed for Chittagong. A few months later, a store was opened at Rangoon. Parsee store-keepers were sent from Calcutta, by Tom Pearson; and these were placed in control of the stores there, and at Martaban—Stanley being in charge of these two stations, and Akyah; and having a native craft of his own, and a boat for river work similar to that of his uncle.

A year later he received a letter from Harry, saying that his uncle had died, a month after his return to England; and that he was now established as one of the pillars of the state.

"As I went through London, on my arrival," he said, "I looked up your mother at the address you gave me, at Dulwich. I found her very well, and very comfortable. She was full of your praises and, as I was equally so, your ears ought to have tingled while we were together. Of course they wanted to hear all about you, and most of it was new to them; for you had said nothing of your adventure with that leopard, and only a few lines about the rescue of your humble servant; though you had told them that I stood in your way of the earldom. Your mother said that she was prouder of you than if you were an earl, only that she would have liked to have you at home. I told her that you and your uncle were shaking the pagoda tree, and that you would come home as yellow as a guinea and as rich as a nabob, in the course of a few years.

"Your sisters are older than I expected to find them. Of course, you always spoke of them as when you saw them last. They are both growing into very pretty girls, the elder especially. I made your mother promise to bring them down to stay with me, for a bit, when I came into the title; which I knew could not be long, for I had called that morning on my uncle's solicitors, and they told me that he was not expected to live many weeks. As it is only a month since he died, I suppose I ought not to have visitors, just yet; but in a few weeks I shall go up to town, and bring them down with me. I cannot help thinking that it is a little selfish for, when they see this place, they would not be human if they did not feel that it would have been yours, if it had not been for your getting me out of the hands of those Burmese.

"I see that you are gazetted captain, this week. I suppose, long before this, you have settled down to your old work of going up sluggish streams; and trying to stir up the equally sluggish native to a sense of the advantages of British goods. At present, I am quite content to do nothing particular—to ride and drive about, return calls, and so on—but I expect, before very long, I shall get restless, and want to be doing something. However, there is the Continent open to one, and decent hotels to stop at. No fevers there, and no Burmese brigands."

A month later he had a letter from his mother, which had been written before that of Harry, but had been sent to Calcutta and thence to Akyah; and had there lain until his return, two months later, from a boat journey up to Pegu. She said how kind it was of his cousin to come in, to give them news of him, the very day he arrived in London.

"Of course, we were delighted with all that he told us about you; but it made us anxious to think of your running into so many dangers. We like him very much. We could not help laughing, because he seemed quite concerned that you should not have the peerage, instead of him. He seems likely to come into it soon, for he tells us that the earl is very ill. He says that we must come down and pay him a visit, as soon as he is master there; but I don't know whether that can be. Of course it would be a nice change, and I believe that it is a very fine place. I said that it would seem strange our going there, when there are no ladies, and that bachelors did not generally entertain; but he said that, in the first place he should have his sisters there, who were about the same age as my girls; and that as we were his nearest relations, and you were at present his heir, it would be quite the right and proper thing for us to come down. He seemed quite in earnest about it, and I should not be surprised if we go."

Three months later, Stanley heard that the visit had been paid, and that they had stayed a fortnight there.

"It feels quite funny, settling down here again after being in that big house, with all those servants and grandeur; not that there is any grandeur about Harry. He insists, being relations, that we shall call him by his Christian name. Everything was delightful. Every afternoon we used to go driving and, of a morning, he generally rode with the girls. He had a very pretty, gentle horse for Agnes; and a gray pony, a beauty, for Kate. I have a strong suspicion that he had bought them both, on purpose. I should not be surprised—but no, I won't say anything about it."

Stanley puzzled over this sentence, which was followed by:

"His sisters are very nice girls."

"It is evidently something about Harry," he said to himself; "possibly she has taken the idea into her head that he may fall in love with Agnes. That, certainly, would be a very nice thing; but I don't suppose it is anything more than an idea of mother's."

However, four months later he received a letter from Harry, announcing his engagement.

"I told your mother that she must let me write by the mail, before she did; as it was only right that I should have the pleasure of telling you the news, myself. It is splendid, old man; upon my word, I don't know which I ought to feel most grateful to you—for saving my life, or for getting me to know your sister. It seems to me a regular dispensation of Providence. You did everything you could to prevent yourself from coming into a title; and now your sister is going to take it, and me. It is quite right that we should come to be brothers-in-law, for we are quite like brothers, already.

"We are to be married in the spring. How I wish you could be with us. Your absence will be the only thing wanting, to make everything perfect. I do hope you don't mean to stay, grilling out there, many years. It seems to me monstrous that I should be having estates and a big income, and all that sort of thing, when I have done nothing to deserve it; and that you should be toiling in that beastly climate. If I thought that there was the least chance of your rushing home, when you get this letter, I declare that I would put off the marriage for a month or so, so that you should be here in time; but as I feel sure that you won't do anything of the sort, it will be of no use for me to make such a noble sacrifice."

Stanley had received the news that he was gazetted brevet-major, a month after he was promoted to the rank of captain, and two months before his name appeared as having retired from the army. He derived, as he expected, much benefit from his connection with the army in his position at his three receiving ports, as it placed him on a very pleasant footing with the military and civil officials; and it rendered his occasional visits to Calcutta and Madras exceedingly pleasant, for in both towns he found many officers whose acquaintance he had made, during the expedition. He was always made an honorary member of the messes and clubs, during his stays there.

The business grew rapidly. The work of the earlier years had so well paved the way for larger operations that they were able to more than hold their own against other traders who, after the troubles were at an end, sought to establish themselves at various points on the western coast of the peninsula; and after six more years of hard and continuous work, the business came to be a very large and important one.

"I think it more than probable," Stanley wrote to his mother, "that before very long I shall be returning home. My uncle spoke about it, the last time that I saw him; and said that we were outgrowing Calcutta, and ought to establish ourselves in London.

"'We can hold on a bit longer,' he said, 'but we must come to that, sooner or later and, when it does, you must be the one to go to England and take charge. I may go home before that for a few months, but I have no wish or desire to stop there. We have now got a good staff; and I shall probably fix myself, permanently, at Calcutta.'"

Two years later Tom Pearson, on his return from England, brought back a wife with him, and established himself at Calcutta. Stanley joined him there, three weeks after his return. They had a long talk together, that evening.

"I see, Stanley," his uncle said, "that things have gone on improving, since I have been away; and that our turnover last year was 150,000 pounds, and the profits close upon 15,000 pounds. I think, now, that it is high time we opened a place in London. We have almost a monopoly of the teak trade, in Burma; and it would be much more advantageous for us to make our purchases in England, instead of here. We should save in carriage and in trans-shipment, besides the profits that the people here make out of their sales to us. I have made a great many inquiries, at home, as to the prices for cash in Manchester and Birmingham; and find that we should get goods there some fifteen percent cheaper than we pay at Calcutta, even after putting on the freights. So you see, it is an important matter. Besides, there would be a better choice of goods, and you know exactly the sort of thing that we require, and the quantities that we can get rid of; and would be able, therefore, to send consignments each month, without waiting for advices from me; and so we should get the things just as readily as we do now, from here.

"I will give you the names of some of the firms that I have visited, and with whom I have already paved the way for opening extensive transactions. During the eighteen months that I have been away, you have learned all about the banking business; and will find no more difficulty in managing, in London, than here. Your brother-in-law Netherly went with me to the Bank of England, and introduced me to one of the directors. I told him that we intended to open a house in London, and that as soon as we did so, we should open an account with them by paying in 30,000 pounds; and that we should, of course, require some facilities, but probably not to a large extent, as our payments for teak there would fairly balance our exports from England; and that I reckoned our trade to be, as a minimum, 50,000 pounds, each way.

"The matter was made extremely easy by Netherly saying, to my astonishment:

"'You can let them draw what they like, Mr. Townshend, for I will give my personal guarantee, up to 50,000 pounds.'

"I remonstrated, but he would not hear anything said.

"'Ridiculous,' he exclaimed, hotly; 'Stanley is my brother-in-law. He risked his life for me, and you don't suppose that I should mind risking 50,000 pounds for him.

"'Not,' he went on, turning to the director, 'that there is any risk in the matter. I know all about the business they do in India, and that there is not a shadow of risk in it. I know that my guarantee will be a mere form but, as it may put them on a better footing with you, to begin with, I shall be very pleased to do it.'

"Of course, we know that there will be no risk in it. The greater portion of our business is a ready-money one and although, of late, we have been dealing more with native local firms instead of selling direct from our own stores, the amounts are never large and, so far, we have never lost a penny. Of course, I shall let you know, by every mail, how things are going on at all our depots; and you will then be able to form an estimate as to the amount of goods you will have to despatch to each—sending them direct, of course, if there happens to be a ship going.

"But all these things, of course, we shall go into, at length, before you start for England."

"Did you go down to Harry's place?"

"Yes, I stopped there a week. Your sister seems perfectly happy, and plays the part of queen of the county admirably. The four youngsters are jolly little things. As to your mother, you will find very little change in her. I really don't think that she looks a day older than when we saw her off, at Calcutta, something like ten years ago. Of course, then she was cut up with her loss; but quiet and comfort have agreed with her, and the climate is a good deal less trying than it is out here. At any rate, I should not take her for a day over forty, and she is something like five years older than that."

Three months later, Stanley sailed for England. There was the same argument between him and Meinik that there had been when Stanley first left Rangoon, but this time it terminated differently.

"You would be out of your element in England, Meinik. Of course, my life there will be very different from what it is here. I shall go away from home to business, every morning, and not get back until perhaps seven o' clock in the evening. As a consequence, there would be nothing for you to do for me, and we should see very little of each other. You know I should like to have you with me, and would do all that I could to make you comfortable; but I am sure that you would not like the life. Here you have always been on the move, and there is always something for you to do, and think of.

"I have spoken to my uncle about you, and he will be glad to appoint you to the position of purchaser, for our house, of teak and other native products in these provinces. Besides being buyer, you would go up the country, and see to the felling and getting the timber down to the coast, as you have often done before. He knows how absolutely I trust you, and how much you have done for me, and he said that he should be very glad to have you in charge of the buying side of the work, here. Besides, you know you have now a wife and children and, even if you could make yourself comfortable in England, they would never be able to do so; and the bitter cold that we sometimes have, in winter, would try them terribly, and might even carry them all off."

To these arguments Meinik had reluctantly yielded. He was somewhat proud of the position that he occupied, as one of some authority in the establishment of the principal merchants on the coast. He was fond of his wife and little children; and felt that to be established among strangers, of different habits and race, would be very terrible for them. Stanley bought him a nice house at Rangoon and, as his rate of pay, which had been gradually increased, was now sufficient to cause him to rank high among the native population, he himself came to feel that he had done wisely in accepting Stanley's advice.

The voyage to England was an uneventful one; and to Stanley, after the active life he had had for ten years, the five months spent at sea seemed almost interminable.

"I should not have known you, in the least," his mother said, after the first joyful greetings were over. "How much you have gone through, since we parted at Calcutta."

"I had a pretty rough time of it for two years, mother, during the war but, with that exception, my life has been a very pleasant one; and I have had nothing, whatever, to grumble about.

"This is a pretty house that you have chosen, mother, and the garden is charming. How I have longed, sometimes, for the sight of an English garden. Of course I have never seen one before, but I have heard you talk of them, and thought how delightful the green grass must be. Of course we had flowers in Burma—plenty of them—and shrubs; but it was not green, like this. It is charming."

"Yes, it is a pretty house, Stanley. We moved in here five years ago—thanks to you, dear boy—and it has been a very quiet, happy time. We have a good many friends now, among our neighbours; and have quite as much society as I care for.

"I suppose you have not yet decided whether you will live here, with us," she said, a little anxiously, "or set up an establishment of your own."

"Of course I shall stay here, mother. I never thought of anything else. I see that you have some stables. I shall get a couple of horses, and drive into town, in the mornings. I have got out of the way of walking, altogether.

"And where is Kate?"

"You will see her presently. She will be here to dinner, with Agnes and Harry. I sent her off, because I wanted to have you all to myself, for the first hour. The others came up to town, three days ago, on purpose to be here when you arrived. Of course, we heard when your ship called at Plymouth. We had been looking for her, for your last letter told us the name of the vessel that you were coming by; so I wrote to them, and they came up at once. They wanted us to go and dine with them, but I would not hear of it. I was sure that you would much rather dine quietly, here, than in state in Portman Square, with three or four footmen behind our chairs."

"Ever so much better, mother. I suppose I shall hardly know Agnes, but Harry cannot have altered much; besides, I have seen him four years later than her."

Harry's greeting was of the heartiest kind. Stanley's sisters felt, at first, a little strange with this brother of whom they had but a faint remembrance.

"It does not seem to me, Harry, that your dignities have tamed you down much."

"No, indeed," Harry laughed. "I find it, sometimes, very difficult to act up to my position. I never quite feel that I am an earl, except on the rare occasions when I go to the House of Lords—which I only do when my vote is wanted, on an important division.

"The gloom of that place is enough to sober anyone. I can assure you that, when I heard of the fire, I felt absolutely pleased. Of course, they will build another one, perhaps grander than the last, and as gloomy but, thank goodness, it must be years before it can be finished and, until then, we shall have to put up with temporary premises.

"Your chances of an earldom are getting more and more remote, Stanley. There are three boys barring the way, already. I had proposed to myself not to marry—in which case you or a son of yours would have followed me—but your sister overpersuaded me."

Agnes tossed her head, as she said:

"At any rate, Harry, if you made that resolution, it was not worth much, as you gave it up at the first opportunity. I was the first girl you met, when you arrived in England; and I doubt whether you had seen another, before we came down to stay at Netherly. I had not been there two days before you began to make love to me."

"The temptation would excuse anything, my dear," Harry laughed. "Besides, you see, I saw at once that it was but fair and right to Stanley that, if he could not get the peerage himself, he might some day have the satisfaction of being uncle to an earl.

"And so you are home for good, old fellow?"

"Yes, and just at present I feel very much at sea as to how to get to work, as Tom Pearson arranged nothing except as to the banking account. Everything else he has left to me. I know nothing of London, and have no idea of the situation where I should look for offices."

"I will put you up to all that, Stanley. I don't know anything about it myself, as you may suppose; but if you will go with me to my solicitors, tomorrow, they will be able to tell you. But I do know that Leadenhall Street is the centre of the Indian trade, and it's somewhere about there that you will have to fix yourself.

"Of course, when you have taken a place, you will have to get hold of some clerks. If you put an advertisement in the paper, you will get any number of applicants; or possibly my men may, through their connection with merchants, be able to hear of some to suit you. Anyhow, I am sure that you will find no difficulty."

Thanks to Harry's introductions, Stanley was established in a handsome suite of offices, with three clerks, with much greater ease than he had anticipated. Being thoroughly versed in business, he was not long before he was at home in his new life.

Three years after his return, he married Harry's youngest sister. The firm flourished greatly, and became one of the leading houses in the Eastern trade. At the age of sixty, Stanley retired from business with a large fortune. He could do this comfortably, as his eldest son and a nephew had become active partners in the firm. He still lives, at the age of eighty-six, in a noble mansion near Staines; and retains all the faculties, even at advanced age.

Table of Contents

For Name and Fame

PREFACE.

CHAPTER 1: THE LOST CHILD.

CHAPTER 2: THE FOUNDLING.

CHAPTER 3: LIFE ON A SMACK.

CHAPTER 4: RUN DOWN.

CHAPTER 5: THE CASTAWAYS.

CHAPTER 6: THE ATTACK ON THE VILLAGE.

CHAPTER 7: THE FIGHT WITH THE PRAHUS.

CHAPTER 8: THE TORPEDO.

CHAPTER 9: THE ADVANCE INTO AFGHANISTAN.

CHAPTER 10: THE PEIWAR-KHOTAL.

CHAPTER 11: A PRISONER.

CHAPTER 12: THE ADVANCE UP THE KHYBER.

CHAPTER 13: THE MASSACRE AT CABUL.

CHAPTER 14: THE ADVANCE UPON CABUL.

CHAPTER 15: THE FIGHTING ROUND CABUL.

CHAPTER 16: THE FIGHT IN THE PASS.

CHAPTER 17: AT CANDAHAR.

CHAPTER 18: ON THE HELMUND.

CHAPTER 19: THE BATTLE OF MAIWAND.

CHAPTER 20: CANDAHAR.

CHAPTER 21: THE BATTLE OF CANDAHAR.

CHAPTER 22: AT HOME AT LAST.

For Name and Fame

PREFACE.

In following the hero of this story through the last Afghan war, you will be improving your acquaintance with a country which is of supreme importance to the British Empire and, at the same time, be able to trace the operations by which Lord Roberts made his great reputation as a general, and a leader of men. Afghanistan stands as a line between the two great empires of England and Russia; and is likely, sooner or later, to become the scene of a tremendous struggle between these nations. Happily, at the present time the Afghans are on our side. It is true that we have warred with, and beaten them; but our retirement, after victory, has at least shown them that we have no desire to take their country while, on the other hand, they know that for those races upon whom Russia has once laid her hand there is no escape.

In these pages you will see the strength and the weakness of these wild people of the mountains; their strength lying in their personal bravery, their determination to preserve their freedom at all costs, and the nature of their country. Their weakness consists in their want of organization, their tribal jealousies, and their impatience of regular habits and of the restraint necessary to render them good soldiers. But, when led and organized by English officers, there are no better soldiers in the world; as is proved by the splendid services which have been rendered by the frontier force, which is composed almost entirely of Afghan tribesmen.

Their history shows that defeat has little moral effect upon them. Crushed one day, they will rise again the next; scattered—it would seem hopelessly—they are ready to reassemble, and renew the conflict, at the first summons of their chiefs. Guided by British advice, led by British officers and, it may be, paid by British gold, Afghanistan is likely to prove an invaluable ally to us, when the day comes that Russia believes herself strong enough to move forward towards the goal of all her hopes and efforts, for the last fifty years—the conquest of India.

G. A. Henty.

CHAPTER 1: THE LOST CHILD.

"My poor pets!" a lady exclaimed, sorrowfully; "it is too bad. They all knew me so well; and ran to meet me, when they saw me coming; and seemed really pleased to see me, even when I had no food to give them."

"Which was not often, my dear," Captain Ripon—her husband—said. "However it is, as you say, too bad; and I will bring the fellow to justice, if I can. There are twelve prize fowls—worth a couple of guineas apiece, not to mention the fact of their being pets of yours—stolen, probably by tramps; who will eat them, and for whom the commonest barn-door chickens would have done as well. There are marks of blood in two or three places, so they have evidently been killed for food. The house was locked up last night, all right; for you see they got in by breaking in a panel of the door.

"Robson, run down to the village, at once, and tell the policeman to come up here; and ask if any gypsies, or tramps, have been seen in the neighborhood."

The village lay at the gate of Captain Ripon's park, and the gardener soon returned with the policeman.

"I've heard say there are some gypsies camped on Netherwood Common, four miles away," that functionary said, in answer to Captain Ripon.

"Put the gray mare in the dog cart, Sam. We will drive over at once. They will hardly expect us so soon. We will pick up another policeman, at Netherwood. They may show fight, if we are not in strength."

Five minutes later, Captain Ripon was traveling along the road at the rate of twelve miles an hour; with Sam by his side, and the policeman sitting behind. At Netherwood they took up another policeman and, a few minutes later, drove up to the gypsy encampment.

There was a slight stir when they were seen approaching; and then the gypsies went on with their usual work, the women weaving baskets from osiers, the men cutting up gorse into skewers. There were four low tents, and a wagon stood near; a bony horse grazing on the common.

"Now," Captain Ripon said, "I am a magistrate, and I daresay you know what I have come for. My fowl house has been broken open, and some valuable fowls stolen.

"Now, policeman, look about, and see if you can find any traces of them."

The gypsies rose to their feet, with angry gestures.

"Why do you come to us?" one of the men said. "When a fowl is stolen you always suspect us, as if there were no other thieves in the world."

"There are plenty of other thieves, my friend; and we shall not interfere with you, if we find nothing suspicious."

"There have been some fowls plucked, here," one of the policemen said. "Here is a little feather—" and he showed one, of only half an inch in length "—and there is another, on that woman's hair. They have cleaned them up nicely enough, but it ain't easy to pick up every feather. I'll be bound we find a fowl, in the pot."

Two of the gypsies leaped forward, stick in hand; but the oldest man present said a word or two to them, in their own dialect.

"You may look in the pot," he said, turning to Captain Ripon, "and maybe you will find a fowl there, with other things. We bought 'em at the market at Hunston, yesterday."

The policeman lifted the lid off the great pot, which was hanging over the fire, and stirred up the contents with a stick.

"There's rabbits here—two or three of them, I should say—and a fowl, perhaps two, but they are cut up."

"I cannot swear to that," Captain Ripon said, examining the portions of fowl, "though the plumpness of the breasts, and the size, show that they are not ordinary fowls."

He looked round again at the tents.

"But I can pretty well swear to this," he said, as he stooped and picked up a feather which lay, half concealed, between the edge of one of the tents and the grass. "This is a breast feather of a Spangled Dorking. These are not birds which would be sold for eating in Hunston market, and it will be for these men to show where they got it from."

A smothered oath broke from one or two of the men. The elder signed to them to be quiet.

"That's not proof," he said, insolently. "You can't convict five men, because the feather of a fowl which you cannot swear to is found in their camp."

"No," Captain Ripon said, quietly. "I do not want to convict anyone but the thief; but the proof is sufficient for taking you in custody, and we shall find out which was the guilty man, afterwards.

"Now, lads, it will be worse for you, if you make trouble.

"Constables, take them up to Mr. Bailey. He lives half a mile away. Fortunately, we have means of proving which is the fellow concerned.

"Now, Sam, you and I will go up with the Netherwood constable to Mr. Bailey.

"And do you," he said, to the other policeman, "keep a sharp watch over these women. You say you can find nothing in the tents; but it is likely the other fowls are hid, not far off, and I will put all the boys of the village to search, when I come back."

The gypsies, with sullen faces, accompanied Captain Ripon and the policeman to the magistrate's.

"Is that feather the only proof you have, Ripon?" Mr. Bailey asked, when he had given his evidence. "I do not think that it will be enough to convict, if unsupported; besides, you cannot bring it home to any one of them. But it is sufficient for me to have them locked up for twenty-four hours and, in the meantime, you may find the other fowls."

"But I have means of identification," Captain Ripon said. "There is a footmark in some earth, at the fowl house door. It is made by a boot which has got hobnails and a horseshoe heel, and a piece of that heel has been broken off.

"Now, which of these men has got such a boot on? Whichever has, he is the man."

There was a sudden movement among the accused.

"It's of no use," one of them said, when the policeman approached to examine their boots. "I'm the man, I'll admit it. I can't get over the boot," and he held up his right foot.

"That is the boot, sir," the constable exclaimed. "I can swear that it will fit the impression, exactly."

"Very well," the magistrate said. "Constable, take that man to the lockup; and bring him before the bench, tomorrow, for final committal for trial. There is no evidence against the other four. They can go."

With surly, threatening faces the men left the room; while the constable placed handcuffs on the prisoner.

"Constable," Mr. Bailey said, "you had better not put this man in the village lockup. The place is of no great strength, and his comrades would as likely as not get him out, tonight. Put him in my dog cart. My groom shall drive you over to Hunston."

Captain Ripon returned with his groom to Netherwood, and set all the children searching the gorse, copses, and hedges near the common, by the promise of ten shillings reward, if they found the missing fowls. Half an hour later, the gypsies struck their tents, loaded the van, and went off.

Late that afternoon, the ten missing fowls were discovered in a small copse by the wayside, half a mile from the common, on the road to Captain Ripon's park.

"I cannot bring your fowls back to life, Emma," that gentleman said, when he returned home, "but I have got the thief. It was one of the gypsies on Netherwood Common. We found two of the fowls in their pot. No doubt they thought that they would have plenty of time to get their dinner before anyone came, even if suspicion fell on them; and they have hidden the rest away somewhere, but I expect that we shall find them.

"They had burnt all the feathers, as they thought; but I found a breast feather of a Spangled Dorking, and that was enough for me to give them in custody. Then, when it came to the question of boots, the thief found it no good to deny it, any longer."

That evening, Captain Ripen was told that a woman wished to speak to him and, on going out into the hall, he saw a gypsy of some thirty years of age.

"I have come, sir, to beg you not to appear against my husband."

"But, my good woman, I see no reason why I should not do so. If he had only stolen a couple of common fowls, for a sick wife or child, I might have been inclined to overlook it—for I am not fond of sending men to prison—but to steal a dozen valuable fowls, for the pot, is a little too much. Besides, the matter has gone too far, now, for me to retract, even if I wished to—which I certainly do not."

"He is a good husband, sir."

"He may be," Captain Ripon said, "though that black eye you have got does not speak in his favor But that has nothing to do with it. Matters must take their course."

The woman changed her tone.

"I have asked you fairly, sir; and it will be better for you if you don't prosecute Reuben."

"Oh, nonsense, my good woman! Don't let me have any threats, or it will be worse for you."

"I tell you," the woman exclaimed, fiercely, "it will be the worse for you, if you appear against my Reuben."

"There, go out," Captain Ripon said, opening the front door of the hall. "As if I cared for your ridiculous threats! Your husband will get what he deserves—five years, if I am not mistaken."

"You will repent this," the gypsy said, as she passed out.

Captain Ripon closed the door after her, without a word.

"Well, who was it?" his wife inquired, when he returned to the drawing room.

"An insolent gypsy woman, wife of the man who stole the fowls. She had the impudence to threaten me, if I appeared against him."

"Oh, Robert!" the young wife exclaimed, apprehensively, "what could she do? Perhaps you had better not appear."

"Nonsense, my dear!" her husband laughed. "Not appear, because an impudent gypsy woman has threatened me? A nice magistrate I should be! Why, half the fellows who are committed swear that they will pay off the magistrate, some day; but nothing ever comes of it. Here, we have been married six months, and you are wanting me to neglect my duty; especially when it is your pet fowls which have been stolen.

"Why, at the worst, my dear," he went on, seeing that his wife still looked pale, "they could burn down a tick or two, on a windy night in winter and, to satisfy you, I will have an extra sharp lookout kept in that direction, and have a watchdog chained up near them.

"Come, my love, it is not worth giving a second thought about; and I shall not tell you about my work on the bench, if you are going to take matters to heart like this."

The winter came and went, and the ricks were untouched, and Captain Ripon forgot all about the gypsy's threats. At the assizes a previous conviction was proved against her husband, and he got five years penal servitude and, after the trial was over, the matter passed out of the minds of both husband and wife.

They had, indeed, other matters to think about for, soon after Christmas, a baby boy was born, and monopolized the greater portion of his mother's thoughts. When, in due time, he was taken out for walks, the old women of the village—perhaps with an eye to presents from the Park—were unanimous in declaring that he was the finest boy ever seen, and the image both of his father and mother.

He certainly was a fine baby; and his mother lamented sorely over the fact that he had a dark blood mark, about the size of a three-penny piece, upon his shoulder. Her husband, however, consoled her by pointing out that—as it was a boy—the mark did not matter in the slightest; whereas—had it been a girl—the mark would have been a disfigurement, when she attained to the dignified age at which low dresses are worn.

"Yes, of course, that would have been dreadful, Robert. Still, you know, it is a pity."

"I really cannot see that it is even a pity, little woman; and it would have made no great difference if he had been spotted all over, like a leopard, so that his face and arms were free. The only drawback would have been he would have got some nickname or other, such as 'the Leopard,' or 'Spotty,' or something of that sort, when he went to bathe with his school fellows. But this little spot does not matter, in the slightest.

"Some day or other Tom will laugh, when I tell him what a fuss you made over it."

Mrs. Ripon was silenced but, although she said nothing more about it, she was grieved in her heart at this little blemish on her boy; and lamented that it would spoil his appearance, when he began to run about in little short frocks; and she determined, at once, that he should wear long curls, until he got into jackets.

Summer, autumn, and winter came and passed. In the spring, Tom Ripon was toddling about; but he had not yet begun to talk, although his mother declared that certain incoherent sounds, which he made, were quite plain and distinct words; but her husband, while willing to allow that they might be perfectly intelligible to her, insisted that—to the male ear—they in no way resembled words.

"But he ought to begin to talk, Robert," his wife urged. "He is sixteen months old, now, and can run about quite well. He really ought to begin to talk."

"He will talk, before long," her husband said, carelessly. "Many children do not talk till they are eighteen months old, some not till they are two years. Besides, you say he does begin, already."

"Yes, Robert, but not quite plainly."

"No, indeed, not plainly at all," her husband laughed. "Don't trouble, my dear, he will talk soon enough; and if he only talks as loud as he roars, sometimes, you will regret the hurry you have been in about it."

"Oh, Robert, how can you talk so? I am sure he does not cry more than other children. Nurse says he is the best child she ever knew."

"Of course she does, my dear; nurses always do. But I don't say he roars more than other children. I only say he roars, and that loudly; so you need not be afraid of there being anything the matter with his tongue, or his lungs.

"What fidgets you young mothers are, to be sure!"

"And what heartless things you young fathers are, to be sure!" his wife retorted, laughing. "Men don't deserve to have children. They do not appreciate them, one bit."

"We appreciate them, in our way, little woman; but it is not a fussy way. We are content with them as they are, and are not in any hurry for them to run, or to walk, or to cut their first teeth. Tom is a fine little chap, and I am very fond of him, in his way—principally, perhaps, because he is your Tom—but I cannot see that he is a prodigy."

"He is a prodigy," Mrs. Ripon said, with a little toss of her head, "and I shall go up to the nursery, to admire him."

So saying, she walked off with dignity; and Captain Ripon went out to look at his horses, and thought to himself what a wonderful dispensation of providence it was, that mothers were so fond of their babies.

"I don't know what the poor little beggars would do," he muttered, "if they had only their fathers to look after them; but I suppose we should take to it, just as the old goose in the yard has taken to that brood of chickens, whose mother was carried off by the fox.

"By the way, I must order some wire netting. I forgot to write for it, yesterday."

Another two months. It was June, and now even Captain Ripon allowed that Tom could say "Pa," and "Ma," with tolerable distinctness; but as yet he had got no farther. He could now run about sturdily and, as the season was warm and bright, and Mrs. Ripon believed in fresh air, the child spent a considerable portion of his time in the garden.

One day his mother was out with him, and he had been running about for some time. Mrs. Ripon was picking flowers, for she had a dinner party that evening, and she enjoyed getting her flowers, and arranging her vases, herself. Presently she looked round, but Tom was missing. There were many clumps of ornamental shrubs on the lawn, and Mrs. Ripon thought nothing of his disappearance.

"Tom," she called, "come to mamma, she wants you," and went on with her work.

A minute or two passed.

"Where is that little pickle?" she said. "Hiding, I suppose," and she went off in search.

Nowhere was Tom to be seen. She called loudly, and searched in the bushes.

"He must have gone up to the house.

"Oh, here comes nurse. Nurse, have you seen Master Tom? He has just run away," she called.

"No, ma'am, I have seen nothing of him."

"He must be about the garden then, somewhere. Look about, nurse. Where can the child have hidden itself?"

Nurse and mother ran about, calling loudly the name of the missing child. Five minutes later Mrs. Ripon ran into the study, where her husband was going through his farm accounts.

"Oh, Robert," she said, "I can't find Tom!" and she burst into tears.

"Not find Tom?" her husband said, rising in surprise. "Why, how long have you missed him?"

"He was out in the garden with me. I was picking flowers for the dinner table and, when I looked round, he was gone. Nurse and I have been looking everywhere, and calling, but we cannot find him."

"Oh, he is all right," Captain Ripon said, cheerfully. "Do not alarm yourself, little woman. He must have wandered into the shrubbery. We shall hear him howling, directly. But I will come and look for him."

No better success attended Captain Ripon's search than that which his wife had met with. He looked anxious, now. The gardeners and servants were called, and soon every place in the garden was ransacked.

"He must have got through the gate, somehow, into the park," Captain Ripon said, hurrying in that direction. "He certainly is not in the garden, or in any of the hothouses."

Some of the men had already gone in that direction. Presently Captain Ripon met one, running back.

"I have been down to the gate, sir, and can see nothing of Master Tom; but in the middle of the drive, just by the clump of laurels by the gate, this boot was lying—just as if it had been put there on purpose, to be seen."

"Nonsense!" Captain Ripon said. "What can that have to do with it?"

Nevertheless he took the boot, and looked at it. It was a roughly-made, heavy boot, such as would be worn by a laboring man. He was about to throw it carelessly aside, and to proceed on his search, when he happened to turn it over. Then he started, as if struck.

"Good Heaven!" he exclaimed, "it is the gypsy's."

Yes, he remembered it now. The man had pleaded not guilty, when brought up at the assizes, and the boot had been produced as evidence. He remembered it particularly because, after the man was sentenced, his wife had provoked a smile by asking that the boots might be given up to her; in exchange for a better pair for her husband to put on, when discharged from prison.

Yes, it was clear. The gypsy woman had kept her word, and had taken her revenge. She had stolen the child, and had placed the boot where it would attract attention, in order that the parents might know the hand that struck them.

Instantly Captain Ripon ran to the stable, ordered the groom to mount at once, and scour every road and lane; while he himself rode off to Hunston to give notice to the police, and offer a large reward for the child's recovery. He charged the man who had brought the boot to carry it away, and put it in a place of safety till it was required; and on no account to mention to a soul where he put it.

Before riding off he ran in to his wife, who was half wild with grief, to tell her that he was going to search outside the park; and that she must keep up her spirits for, no doubt, Tom would turn up all right, in no time.

He admitted to himself, however, as he galloped away, that he was not altogether sure that Tom would be so speedily recovered. The woman would never have dared to place the boot on the road, and so give a clue against herself, unless she felt very confident that she could get away, or conceal herself.

"She has probably some hiding place, close by the park," he said to himself, "where she will lie hid till night, and will then make across country."

He paused at the village, and set the whole population at work, by telling them that his child was missing—and had, he believed, been carried off by a gypsy woman—and that he would give fifty pounds to anyone who would find him. She could not be far off, as it was only about half an hour since the child had been missed.

Then he galloped to Hunston, set the police at work and, going to a printer, told him instantly to set up and strike off placards, offering five hundred pounds reward for the recovery of the child. This was to be done in an hour or two, and then taken to the police station for distribution throughout the country round. Having now done all in his power, Captain Ripon rode back as rapidly as he had come, in hopes that the child might already have been found.

No news had, however, been obtained of him, nor had anyone seen any strange woman in the neighborhood.

On reaching the house, he found his wife prostrated with grief and, in answer to her questions, he thought it better to tell her about the discovery of the boot.

"We may be some little time, before we find the boy," he said; "but we shall find him, sooner or later. I have got placards out already, offering five hundred pounds reward; and this evening I will send advertisements to all the papers in this and the neighboring counties.

"Do not fret, darling. The woman has done it out of spite, no doubt; but she will not risk putting her neck in a noose, by harming the child. It is a terrible grief, but it will only be for a time. We are sure to find him before long."

Later in the evening, when Mrs. Ripon had somewhat recovered her composure, she said to her husband:

"How strange are God's ways, Robert. How wicked and wrong in us to grumble! I was foolish enough to fret over that mark on the darling's neck, and now the thought of it is my greatest comfort. If it should be God's will that months or years should pass over, before we find him, there is a sign by which we shall always know him. No other child can be palmed off upon us, as our own. When we find Tom we shall know him, however changed he may be!"

"Yes, dear," her husband said, "God is very good, and this trial may be sent us for the best. As you say, we can take comfort, now, from what we were disposed to think, at the time, a little cross. After that, dear, we may surely trust in God. That mark was placed there that we might know our boy again and, were it not decreed that we should again see him, that mark would have been useless."

The thought, for a time, greatly cheered Mrs. Ripon but, gradually, the hope that she should ever see her boy again faded away; and Captain Ripon became much alarmed at the manifest change in her health.

In spite of all Captain Ripon could do, no news was obtained of the gypsy, or Tom. For weeks he rode about the country, asking questions in every village; or hurried away to distant parts of England, where the police thought they had a clue.

It was all in vain. Every gypsy encampment in the kingdom was searched, but without avail; and even the police, sharp eyed as they are, could not guess that the decent-looking Irishwoman, speaking—when she did speak, which was seldom, for she was a taciturn woman—with a strong brogue, working in a laundry in a small street in the Potteries, Notting Hill, was the gypsy they were looking for; or that the little boy, whose father she said was at sea, was the child for whose discovery a thousand pounds was continually advertised.

CHAPTER 2: THE FOUNDLING.

It was a bitterly cold night in January. The wind was roaring across the flats and fens of Cambridgeshire, driving tiny flakes of snow before it. But few people had been about all day, and those whose business compelled them to face the weather had hurried along, muffled up to the chin. It was ten at night; and the porter and his wife at the workhouse, at Ely, had just gone to bed, when the woman exclaimed:

"Sam, I hear a child crying."

"Oh, nonsense!" the man replied, drawing the bedclothes higher over his head. "It is the wind; it's been whistling all day."

The woman was silent, but not convinced. Presently she sat up in bed.

"I tell you, Sam, it's a child; don't you hear it, man? It's a child, outside the gate. On such a night as this, too. Get up, man, and see; if you won't, I will go myself."

"Lie still, woman. It's all thy fancy."

"You are a fool, Sam Dickson," his wife said, sharply. "Do you think I have lived to the age of forty-five, and don't know a child's cry, when I hear it? Now are you going to get up, or am I?"

With much grumbling, the porter turned out of bed, slipped on a pair of trousers and a greatcoat, took down the key from the wall, lighted a lantern, and went out. He opened the gate, and looked out. There was nothing to be seen; and he was about to close the gate again, with a curse on his wife's fancies, when a fresh cry broke on his ears. He hurried out now and, directed by the voice, found lying near the gate a child, wrapped in a dark-colored shawl, which had prevented him from seeing it at his first glance. There was no one else in sight.

The man lifted his lantern above his head, and gave a shout. There was no answer. Then he raised the child and carried it in; locked the door, and entered the lodge.

"You are right, for once," he said. "Here is a child, and a pretty heavy one, too. It has been deserted by someone; and a heartless creature she must have been, for in another half hour it would have been frozen to death, if you had not heard it."

The woman was out of bed now.

"It is a boy," she said, opening the shawl, "about two years old, I should say.

"Don't cry, my boy—don't cry.

"It's half frozen, Sam. The best thing will be to put it into our bed, that has just got warm. I will warm it up a little milk. It's no use taking it into the ward, tonight."

Ten minutes later the child was sound asleep; the porter—who was a good-natured man—having gone over to sleep in an empty bed in the house, leaving the child to share his wife's bed.

In the morning the foundling opened its eyes and looked round. Seeing everything strange, it began to cry.

"Don't cry, dear," the woman said. "I will get you some nice breakfast, directly."

The kindness of tone at once pacified the child. It looked round.

"Where's mother?" he asked.

"I don't know, dear. We shall find her soon enough, no doubt; don't you fret."

The child did not seem inclined to fret. On the contrary, he brightened up visibly.

"Will she beat Billy, when she comes back?"

"No, my dear, she sha'n't beat you. Does she often beat you?"

The child nodded its head several times, emphatically.

"Then she's a bad lot," the woman said, indignantly.

The child ate its breakfast contentedly, and was then carried by the porter's wife to the master, who had already heard the circumstance of its entry.

"It's of no use asking such a baby whether it has any name," he said; "of course, it would not know. It had better go into the infants' ward. The guardians will settle what its name shall be. We will set the police at work, and try and find out something about its mother. It is a fine-looking little chap; and she must be either a thoroughly bad one, or terribly pressed, to desert it like this. Most likely it is a tramp and, in that case, it's odds we shall never hear further about it.

"Any distinguishing mark on its clothes?"

"None at all, sir. It is poorly dressed, and seems to have been very bad treated. Its skin is dirty, and its little back is black and blue with bruises; but it has a blood mark on the neck, which will enable its mother to swear to it, if it's fifty years hence—but I don't suppose we shall ever hear of her, again."

That afternoon, however, the news came that the body of a tramp had been found, frozen to death in a ditch near the town. She had apparently lost her way and, when she had fallen in, was so numbed and cold that she was unable to rise, and so had been drowned in the shallow water. When the master heard of it, he sent for the porter's wife.

"Mrs. Dickson," he said, "you had better take that child down, and let it see the tramp they have found, frozen to death. The child is too young to be shocked at death, and will suppose she is asleep. But you will be able to see if he recognizes her."

There was no doubt as to the recognition. The child started in terror, when he saw the woman lying in the shed into which she had been carried. It checked its first impulse to cry out, but struggled to get further off.

"Moder asleep," he said, in a whisper. "If she wake, she beat Billy."

That was enough. The woman carried him back to the house.

"She's his mother, sir, sure enough," she said to the master, "though how she should be puzzles me. She is dressed in pretty decent clothes; but she is as dark as a gypsy, with black hair. This child is fair, with a skin as white as milk, now he is washed."

"I daresay he takes after his father," the master—who was a practical man—said. "I hear that there is no name on her things, no paper or other article which would identify her in her pockets; but there is two pounds, twelve shillings in her purse, so she was not absolutely in want. It will pay the parish for her funeral."

An hour later the guardians assembled and, upon hearing the circumstances of the newcomer's admission, and the death of the tramp, they decided that the child should be entered in the books as "William Gale,"—the name being chosen with a reference to the weather during which he came into the house—and against his name a note was written, to the effect that his mother—a tramp, name unknown—had, after leaving him at the door of the workhouse, been found frozen to death next day.

William Gale grew, and throve. He was a quiet and contented child; accustomed to be shut up all day alone, while his mother was out washing, the companionship of other children in the workhouse was a pleasant novelty and, if the food was not such as a dainty child would fancy, it was at least as good as he had been accustomed to.

The porter's wife continued to be the fast friend of the child whom she had saved from death. The fact that she had done so gave her an interest in it. Her own children were out in service, or at work in the fields; and the child was a pleasure to her. Scarce a day passed, then, that she would not go across the yard up to the infants' ward, and bring Billy down to the lodge; where he would play contentedly by the hour, or sit watching her, and sucking at a cake, while she washed or prepared her husband's dinner.

Billy was seldom heard to cry. Perhaps he had wept all his stock of tears away, before he entered the house. He had seldom fits of bad temper, and was a really lovable child. Mrs. Dickson never wavered in the opinion she had first formed—that the dead tramp was not Billy's mother—but as no one else agreed with her, she kept her thoughts to herself.

The years passed on, and William Gale was now no longer in the infants' ward, but took his place in the boys' school. Here he at once showed an intelligence beyond that of the other boys of his own age. The hours which he had, each day, spent in the porter's lodge had not been wasted. The affection of the good woman had brightened his life, and he had none of the dull, downcast look so common among children in workhouses. She had encouraged him to talk and play, had taught him the alphabet, and supplied him with an occasional picture book, with easy words. Indeed, she devoted far more time to him than many mothers, in her class of life, can give to their children.

The guardians, as they went in and out to board meeting, would delight her by remarking:

"That is really a fine little fellow, Mrs. Dickson. He really does you credit. A fine, sturdy, independent little chap."

The child, of course, wore the regular uniform of workhouse children; but Mrs. Dickson—who was handy with her needle—used to cut and alter the clothes to fit him, and thus entirely changed their appearance.

"He looks like a gentleman's child," one of the guardians said, one day.

"I believe he is a gentleman's child, sir. Look at his white skin; see how upright he is, with his head far back, as if he was somebody. He is different, altogether, from the run of them. I always said he came of good blood, and I shall say so to my dying day."

"It may be so, Mrs. Dickson; but the woman who left him here, if I remember right, did not look as if she had any good blood in her."

"Not likely, sir. She never came by him honestly, I am sure. I couldn't have believed she was his mother, not if she had sworn to it with her dying breath."

Mrs. Dickson's belief was not without influence upon the boy. When he was old enough to understand, she told him the circumstances of his having been found at the workhouse door, and of the discovery of the woman who had brought him there; and impressed upon him her own strong conviction that this was not his mother.

"I believe, Billy," she said, over and over again, "that your parents were gentlefolk. Now mind, it does not make one bit of difference to you, for it ain't likely you will ever hear of them. Still, please God, you may do so; and it is for you to bear it in mind, and to act so as—if you were to meet them—they need not be ashamed of you. You have got to earn your living just like all the other boys here; but you can act right, and straight, and honorable.

"Never tell a lie, Billy; not if it's to save yourself from being thrashed ever so much. Always speak out manful, and straight, no matter what comes of it. Don't never use no bad words, work hard at your books, and try to improve yourself. Keep it always before you that you mean to be a good man, and a gentleman, some day and, mark my words, you will do it."

"You're spoiling that child," her husband would say, "filling his head with your ridiculous notions."

"No, I am not spoiling him, Sam. I'm doing him good. It will help keep him straight, if he thinks that he is of gentle blood, and must not shame it. Why, the matron said only yesterday she could not make him out, he was so different from other boys."

"More's the pity," grumbled the porter. "It mayn't do him harm now—I don't say as it does; but when he leaves the house he'll be above his work, and will be discontented, and never keep a place."

"No, he won't," his wife asserted stoutly; although, in her heart, she feared that there was some risk of her teaching having that effect.

So far, however, there could be no doubt that her teaching had been of great advantage to the boy; and his steadiness and diligence soon attracted the attention of the schoolmaster. Schoolmasters are always ready to help pupils forward who promise to be a credit to them, and William Gale's teacher was no exception. He was not a learned man—very far from it. He had been a grocer who had failed in business and, having no other resource, had accepted the very small salary offered, by the guardians of Ely workhouse, as the only means which presented itself of keeping out of one of the pauper wards of that institution. However, he was not a bad reader, and wrote an excellent hand. With books of geography and history before him, he could make no blunders in his teaching; and although he might have been failing in method, he was not harsh or unkind—and the boys, therefore, learned as much with him as they might have done with a more learned master, of a harsher disposition.

He soon recognized not only William's anxiety to learn, but the fearlessness and spirit with which he was always ready to own a fault, and to bear its punishment. On several occasions he brought the boy before the notice of the guardians, when they came round the school and, when questions had to be asked before visitors, William Gale was always called up as the show boy.

This prominence would have made him an object of dislike, among the other lads of his own age; had it not been that William was a lively, good-tempered boy; and if, as sometimes happened on these occasions, a sixpence or shilling was slipped into his hand by some visitor, who was taken by his frank open face and bright intelligent manner, it was always shared among his school fellows.

At one of the examinations the wife of a guardian, who was present with her husband, said on returning home:

"It must be very dull for those poor boys. I will pack up some of the boys' books, and send them. Now they have gone to college, they will never want them again; and they would make quite a library for the workhouse boys. There must be twenty or thirty of them, at least."

If ladies could but know what brightness they can infuse into the lives of lads, placed like these in Ely workhouse, by a simple act of kindness of this kind, there would not be an institution in the kingdom without a well-supplied library. The gift infused a new life into the school. Hitherto the world outside had been a sealed book to the boys. They knew of no world, save that included within the walls of the house. Their geography told them of other lands and people, but these were mere names, until now.

Among the books were Robinson Crusoe, Midshipman Easy, Peter Simple, three or four of Cooper's Indian tales, Dana's Life before the Mast, and several of Kingston's and Ballantyne's books. These opened a wonderland of life and adventure to the boys. The schoolmaster used to give them out, at twelve o'clock; and they were returned at two, when school recommenced; and only such boys as obtained full marks for their lessons were allowed to have them. In this way, instead of the library being a cause of idleness—as some of the guardians predicted, when they heard of its presentation—it was an incentive to work.

Certainly its perusal filled the minds of most of the boys with an intense longing to go to sea but, as there is always a demand for apprentices for the Yarmouth and Lowestoft smacks, the guardians did not disapprove of this bent being given to their wishes—indeed, as no premium had to be paid, with apprentices to smack owners, while in most trades a premium is required, a preference was given to the sea by the guardians.

When William Gale reached the age of fifteen, and was brought before the board to choose the trade to which he would be apprenticed, he at once said that he would go to sea. There were applications from several smack masters for apprentices; and he, with the five other boys brought up with him, were all of one opinion in the matter.

"Mind, lads," the chairman said, "the life of an apprentice on board a North Sea smack is a hard one. You will get a great many more kicks than half pence. It will be no use grumbling, when you have once made your choice. It is a rough, hard life—none rougher, or harder. When you have served your time, it will be open to you either to continue as smacksmen, or to ship as seamen in sea-going ships.

"Sailors who hail from the eastern fishing ports are always regarded as amongst the best of our seamen. Still, it is a rough life, and a dangerous one. The hardest life, on shore, is easy in comparison. There is time to change your minds, before you sign; when you have done so, it will be too late. Are you all determined?"

None of them wavered. Their signatures were attached to the indentures, and they were told that the porter would take them to Yarmouth, on the following day. William Gale obtained leave to spend his last evening at the porter's lodge, and there he talked very seriously, with Mrs. Dickson, over his future prospects.

"I know," he said, "from Dana's book, that the life is a very rough one, but that will not matter. A sailor, when he has been four years at sea, can pass his examination as a mate; and I mean to work hard, and pass as soon as I can. I don't care how much I am knocked about, that's nothing; there's a good chance of getting on, in the end."

"You will meet a great many bad boys, Bill; don't you let them lead you into their ways."

"Don't be afraid of that," he answered, "I won't do anything I should be ashamed of, afterwards. You have taught me better."

"I suppose the guardians gave you a Bible, today; they always do, when boys goes out."

Will nodded.

"Be sure you read it often, my boy. You read that, and stick to it, and you won't go far wrong. You know what the parson said, last Sunday:

"'No one is strong in himself, but God gives strength.'"

"I remember," Will said. "I made up my mind, then, that I'd bear it in mind, and act upon it when I could. I think the thought of God, and the thought that I may meet my parents—and they must not be ashamed of me—will help me to be honest, and firm."

"I hope, Bill, you will come, sometimes, and see me, when you are ashore."

"I shall be sure to do that, when I can," he answered. "But of course, I shall have no money, at first; and it may be a long time before I can pay my railway fare here; but you may be sure I will come. Whoever may be my real mother, you are the only mother I ever knew, and no mother could have been kinder. When I grow to be a man, and go to sea in big ships, I will bring you all sorts of pretty things from abroad and, if ever you should want it, you may be sure that my wages will be quite as much yours as if I had been, really, your son!"

Sam Dickson gave a snort. It was very good of the boy, but he considered it his duty to snub him, in order to counteract what he considered to be the pernicious counsels and treatment of his wife.

"Fine talk," he said, "fine talk. We shall see."

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Sam Dickson," his wife said, wrathfully. "The boy means what he says, and I believe him. If anything was to happen to you, and that boy was growed up, I believe he would come forward to lend me a helping hand, just as he says, as if he were my son. The gals is good gals, but gals in service have plenty to do with their wages—what with dress, and one thing or another. We must never look for much help from them but, if Bill is doing well, and I ever come to want, I believe as his heart would be good to help, a bit."

"Well," the porter said, dryly, "there's time enough to see about it, yet. I ain't dead, you ain't a pauper, and he ain't a man, not by a long way."

"Well, you needn't go to be short tempered over it, Sam. The boy says as he'll be as good as a son to me, if the time ever comes as how I may want it. There is no call for you to fly out, as if he'd said as he'd poison me, if he'd the chance.

"Anyhow, you'll write to me regular, won't you, Bill?"

"That I will," the boy said. "Every time I gets back to port, I'll write; and you'll write sometimes, won't you? And tell me how you are, and how every one is, schoolmaster and all. They have all been very kind to me, and I have nothing to say against any of them."

The next morning William Gale laid aside, for ever, his workhouse dress; and put on a suit of rough blue cloth, fitted for his future work. Then, bidding adieu to all his friends, he—with his five fellow apprentices—started by rail, under charge of Sam Dickson, for Yarmouth.

The journey itself was, to them, a most exciting event. They had, in all their remembrance, never been a mile from the workhouse; and the swift motion of the train, the changing scenery, the villages and stations, were a source of immense interest. As they neared Yarmouth their excitement increased, for now they were nearing the sea; of which they had read so much, but could form so little idea. They were disappointed, however, inasmuch as no glimpse was obtained of it, as they crossed the flat country leading to the town but, failing the sea, Yarmouth itself—the town which was henceforth to be their headquarters—was in the highest degree interesting.

Presently the train reached the station, and then Sam Dickson—who had made many annual journeys to Yarmouth, on the same errand—at once started off with them to the smack owners who had written to the workhouse. These lived at Gorleston, a large village on the south side of the river. Walking down from the station, the boys caught a glimpse of the river, and were delighted at the sight of the long line of smacks, and coasters, lying by the wharves opposite.

Presently they left the road, and made their way down to the river side. Their guardian had great difficulty in getting them along, so interested were they in the smacks lying alongside. Presently they stopped at a large wooden building, over which was the name of "James Eastrey."

"Here we are," Sam Dickson said. "Now, stop quietly outside. I will call three of you up, when I have spoken to Mr. Eastrey."

Presently the porter re-appeared at the door, and called three of the boys in. William Gale was one of the number, James Eastrey being the name of the owner to whom he had signed his indentures.

A smell of tar pervaded the whole place. Nets, sails, and cordage were piled in great heaps in the store; iron bolts and buckets, iron heads for trawls, and ship's stores of all kinds.

Mr. Eastrey came out from a little wooden office.

"So," he said, "you are the three lads who are going to be my apprentices. Well, boys, it is a rough life but, if you take the ups and downs as they come, it is not a bad one. I always tell my captains to be kind to the boys but, when they are at sea, they do not always act as I wish them. When you are on shore, between the voyages, I give you eight shillings a week, to keep yourselves; or I put you in the Smack Boys' Home, and pay for you there. The last is the best place for you, but some boys prefer to go their own way.

"I suppose you are all anxious to go to sea—boys always are, for the first time. One of my boats is going out, tomorrow.

"You," he said, pointing to William Gale, "shall go in her. What is your name?"

"William Gale, sir."

"Very well, William Gale, then you shall be off first. The others will only have a day or two to wait.

"I can only send one new hand in each smack. The others will go to the Home, till the smacks are ready. I will send a man with them, at once. They can have a day to run about the town. I shall find plenty of work for them, afterwards.

"You, Gale, will stop on the smack. I will take you on board, in half an hour, when I have finished my letter."

The three lads said goodbye to their comrades and to Sam Dickson. A sailor was called up, and took two off to the Smack Boys' Home; and Will Gale sat down on a coil of rope, to wait till his employer was ready to take him down to the craft to which he was, henceforth, to belong.

CHAPTER 3: LIFE ON A SMACK.

"Now come along, Gale," Mr. Eastrey said, at last, "the Kitty is close by."

Following his master, the lad went out from the store and along the wharf and, presently, stepped upon a smack on which several men, and a boy, were at work.

"Harvey," Mr. Eastrey said, "I have brought you a new lad. He will sail with you, tomorrow. I have a very good account of him, and I think you will find him quick, and ready."

"So as he's not up to tricks, I shall do very well with him, I don't doubt," the skipper said; "but boys are an awful trouble, the first voyage or two. However, I will do my best for him.

"Are you ready to begin work at once, young 'un? What is your name?"

"William Gale, and I am quite ready."

"Very well, Bill, chuck off your jacket, then, and pass those bags along from the wharf."

The boy was soon hard at work. He was a little disappointed at finding that the skipper was, in dress and manner, in no way superior to the rest of the crew. The Kitty was a yawl of forty-five tons, deep in the water and broad in the beam. Her deck was dirty and, at present, in disorder; and she did not come up to the perfection of neatness and cleanliness which William Gale had read of, in the pages of his favorite author. However—as he told himself—there must, of course, be a good deal of difference between a man of war, where the crew have little to do but to keep things neat and bright, and a fishing smack.

The work upon which he was, at present, engaged was the transferring of the provisions for the voyage from the quay to the hold. These consisted principally of barrels of salt meat, and bags of biscuits; but there were a large tin of tea, a keg of sugar, a small barrel of molasses—or treacle—two or three sacks of potatoes, pepper and salt. Then there was a barrel of oil for the lamps, coils of spare rope of different sizes, and a number of articles of whose use William Gale had not the most remote idea.

After two hours' work, the skipper looked at his watch.

"Time to knock off work," he said, "and we've got pretty near everything on board. Now, be sure you are all here by six in the morning. Tide will begin to run out at eight, and I don't want to lose any of it.

"Bill, you are to come home with me, for the night."

It was but a hundred yards to the sailor's cottage, which stood on the edge of the sharp rise, a short distance back from the river.

"Here, wife," he said as he entered, "I've got a new apprentice, and I expect he's pretty hungry; I am, I can tell you, and I hope tea's ready. His name's Bill, and he's going to stop here, tonight."

"Tea is quite ready, John, and there's plenty of mackerel. I thought you would not be getting them again, for a spell.

"Do you like fish?" she asked the boy.

"I don't know, ma'am—I never tasted them."

"Bless me!" the woman cried, in astonishment; "never tasted fish! To think, now!"

"I've been brought up in a workhouse," William said, coloring a little as he spoke, for he knew the prejudice against the House.

"Ah!" she said, "we have had a good many of that sort; and I can't say as I likes 'em, for the most part. But you haven't got the look about you. You don't seem that sort."

"I hope I shall turn out none the worse for it," the boy said; "at any rate, I'll do my best."

"And none can't do more," the good woman said, briskly. "I like your looks, Bill, and you've a nice way of talking. Well, we shall see."

In a few minutes tea was upon the table, and Will sat down with the skipper, his wife, and two daughters—girls of ten and twelve. The lad enjoyed his meal immensely, and did full justice to the fish.

"You will have plenty of them, before you eat your next tea on shore. We pretty nigh live on them, when we are on the fishing grounds."

"The same kind of fish as this?"

"No, mackerel are caught in small boats, with a different sort of gear, altogether. We get them, sometimes, in the trawl—not shoals of 'em, but single fish, which we call horse mackerel."

After tea, the skipper lit his pipe; and his wife, after clearing up, took some knitting, and sat down and began to question the new apprentice.

"It's lucky, for you, you found such a good friend," she said, when he had finished his story. "That's how it is you are so different from other boys who have been apprenticed from the House. I should never have thought you had come from there.

"And she gave you good advice as to how you should go on, I'll be bound."

"Yes, ma'am," Will said, "and I hope I shall act up to it."

"I hope so, Bill; but you'll find it hard work to keep yourself as you should do, among them boys. They are an awful lot, them smack boys."

"Not worse nor other boys," her husband said.

"Not worse than might be looked for, John, but they are most of 'em pretty bad. The language they use make my blood run cold, often. They seems to take a delight in it. The hands are bad enough, but the boys are dreadful.

"I suppose you don't swear, Will. They look too sharp after you, in the House; but if you take my advice, boy, don't you ever get into the way of bad language. If you once begin, it will grow on you. There ain't no use in it, and it's awful to hear it."

"I will try not to do so," Will said firmly. "Mother—I always call her mother—told me how bad it was, and I said I'd try."

"That's right, Will, you stick to that, and make up your mind to keep from liquor, and you'll do."

"What's the use of talking that way?" the skipper said. "The boy's sure to do it. They all do."

"Not all, John. There's some teetotalers in the fleet."

"I won't say I'll never touch it," Will said, "for I don't know, yet, how I may want it—they say when you are cold and wet through, at sea, it is really good—but I have made up my mind I'll never drink for the sake of drinking. Half the men—ay, nineteen out of twenty in the House—would never have been there, I've heard mother say, if it hadn't been for drink; and I told her she need never fear I'd take to that."

"If you can do without it on shore, you can do without it at sea," the skipper said. "I take it when I'm on shore, but there's not a drop goes out on the Kitty. Some boats carries spirits, some don't. We don't. The old man puts chocolate on board instead and, of a wet night, a drink of hot chocolate's worth all the rum in the world.

"As for giving it up altogether, I see no call for it. There are men who can't touch liquor, but they must go on till they get drunk. That sort ought to swear off, and never touch it at all. It's worse than poison, to some. But for a man who is content with his pint of beer with his dinner, and a glass of grog of an evening, I see no harm in it."

"Except that the money might be better spent, John."

"It might be, or it might not. In my case, the saving would be of no account. The beer costs three pence, and the rum as much more. That's six pence a day. I'm only at home ten days, once every two months; so it come to thirty shillings a year, and I enjoy my dinner, and my evening pipe, all the better for them."

"The thing is this, Will: you don't know, when you begin, whether you are going to be one of the men who—like my John—is content with his pint of beer, and his glass of grog; or whether you will be one of them as can't touch liquor without wanting to make beasts of themselves. Therefore the safest plan is, don't touch it at all—leastways, till you've served your time. The others may laugh at you, at first; but they won't like you any the worse for it."

"Thank you, ma'am. I will make up my mind to that—not to touch liquor till I am out of my apprenticeship. After that, I can see for myself."

"That's right, lad. When you come back from your first trip, you can join the lodge, if you like. I and my girls are members."

"Thank you, ma'am," Will said; "but I won't take any pledge. I have said I will not do it, and I don't see any use in taking an oath about it. If I am so weak as to break my word, I should break my oath. I don't know why I shouldn't be able to trust myself to do as I am willed, in that way as in any other. If I'd a craving after it, it might be different; but I never have tasted it, and don't want to taste it, so I don't see why I can't trust myself."

"Yes, I think as how you can trust yourself, Will," the woman said, looking at him; "and I've noticed often that it isn't them who say most, as do most.

"Now, I daresay you are sleepy. There's my boy's bed for you. He is fourth hand in one of the smacks at sea."

The next morning Will was out of bed the instant he was called, excited at the thought that he was going really to sea. The skipper's wife had tea made, and the table laid.

"Here," she said, "are some oilskin suits my boy has given up. They will suit you well enough for size and, although they are not as good as they were, they will keep out a good deal of water, yet. You will get half-a-crown a week, while you are at sea so, by the time you get back, you will have enough to buy yourself a fresh suit."

Half an hour later Will was at work, getting two spare sails and the last of the stores on board.

"Now, Bill, come below," the skipper said. "I will show you your bunk."

The cabin was larger than Will had expected. It was about twelve feet square, and lofty enough for a tall man to stand upright. By the side of the companion stairs was a grate, on which a kettle was boiling; and this, as he afterwards learned, was a fixture, except when cooking was going on, and the men could have tea whenever they chose. Round three sides of the cabin extended lockers, the tops forming seats. Above were what looked like cupboards, running round the sides; but the skipper pushed open a sliding door, and showed a bed place.

"That is your bunk," he said. "You see, there are two at the end, and one each side, above, and as many under them—eight bunks, in all. You will have to help Jack—that is the other boy—in cooking, and make yourself useful, generally, in the day. The crew are divided into two watches, but you will not have much to do on deck. If the night is clear you can sleep, except when the trawl is being got up. Of a thick or stormy night, you will keep your watch.

"Now, as the other lad is more handy on deck than you are, you can take charge here. All you have to do is to see that the kettle is kept boiling. You can come on deck and lend a hand, if wanted; but you must come down sometimes, and see the fire is all right."

After inspecting the contents of the kettle, and seeing that it was full, Will climbed up the steep ladder again; and was soon working away, coiling down the ropes with the other lad, while the crew hoisted sails and got the boat under weigh.

"Are there only two hands under the captain?" he asked the other boy.

"There are two others," the boy said. "They will come on board after we get out of the river, and you'll see they will be just as drunk as they can stand."

"What, drunk at this time in the morning?"

"Yes, they got drunk last night and, as they won't have fairly slept it off, they will be beginning again this morning. The old man will look them up, and get them off."

"Who is the old man?"

"Old Eastrey, of course, stupid.

"I wish they were all on board. There's a fine breeze, and I hate wasting four or five hours off the bar, waiting for the hands to come off."

"I wonder the old man stands it," Will said.

"He can't help it," the other answered. "Scarce a smack goes out of Yarmouth without half the hands being drunk, when she starts. They don't get much chance afterwards, you see; and they sleep it off by night, so it don't make any odds. Our skipper is always sober, and that's more than many of them are. I have gone out when me and the other boy were the only two sober on board."

"But isn't it very dangerous?"

"Dangerous? No," the boy said, "one of them is sure to be sober enough to manage to stand at the helm and, though I've bumped pretty heavy on the sands, sometimes, we generally strike the channel. There is no fear of anything else. We never start, if a gale is blowing; and the smacks are safe in anything but a gale. They are too deep to capsize and, at sea, there's no more drinking."

The smack dropped down the river and stood, off and on, near its entrance. Will was delighted with the bright sea, dotted with ships and fishing craft. The sun was shining, and there was just enough wind to send the smack along briskly through the water, without raising any waves sufficiently high to give her a perceptible motion. At eight o'clock the captain went on shore in the boat, with a man, to look after the absent sailors; leaving only one hand and the two boys on board. At ten the boat was again seen, coming out.

"One, two, three, four," the boy said, "he has got them both. Now we shall be off."

The boat was soon alongside. The two drunken men were helped on board and, at once, went below to sleep themselves sober. Then the boat was hoisted on board and, the second hand taking the helm, the Kitty started fairly on her way.

"Now," the captain said, "let us get her a little tidy."

It took some hours' work before the deck was washed, the ropes coiled down, and everything ship-shape. By the time all was done, the low coast of Norfolk had sunk below the horizon, and the smack was far out at sea. There was more motion now, but the wind was still light.

The skipper was pleased with the earnestness and alacrity which the new apprentice showed.

"Now, Jack," he said to the other boy, "take Will below with you, and show him how to make tea."

The process of tea making, on board a smack, is not a difficult one to master; the sole operation consisting in putting a few more spoonfuls of tea into the kettle boiling over the fire, when it begins to get low, and filling up with fresh water. But, simple as the thing was, William Gale did not learn it on that occasion. He had been feeling somewhat shaky, even while on deck; and the heat of the cabin, and the smell of some grease which Jack had just put in the frying pan, preparatory to cooking some fish brought off from shore, completed the effect of the rising sea. Until next morning he was not in a condition to care, even had the tea remained unmade to the end of time. He did not go below, but lay under the shelter of a tarpaulin, on deck.

In the morning, the skipper roused him up.

"Now, lad, just take off your coat and shirt. Here is a bucket of water. Put your head in that, and give yourself a good sluice; and then come down and have a cup of tea, and a bit of biscuit, and you will find yourself all right again."

Will followed the instructions, and found himself wonderfully better.

"Now, lad, lend a hand in tidying up on deck. There is nothing like work, for keeping off seasickness. Jack shall cook, for today."

The boy set to work with a will; and felt so refreshed that, by one o'clock, he was able to go below and take his share of the dinner. At present, while on their way to the fishing grounds, their meals were taken at the same time as on shore but, once at work, there were only two meals a day. Of these the first was taken when the fishing was over, the fish cleaned, picked, weighed, and packed—the hour varying between nine and eleven. The second meal was taken before the trawl was lowered, at six or seven o'clock in the evening.

After five days' sailing, the smack arrived off the fishing ground; but another two days were spent in finding the fleet, as the fishing grounds extend over a distance of some hundreds of miles. When they came up with it, William Gale was astonished at the vast number of boats that dotted the sea.

In the Yarmouth fleet there are between four and five hundred vessels and, were it not that the most perfect order and discipline reign, the number of accidents which would occur, from so many boats fishing close to each other at night, would be terrible. The fleet is commanded by one of the most experienced skippers, who is termed the admiral. His authority is absolute. He leads the fleet to the grounds he selects for fishing and, by signals by day and rockets by night, issues his orders—when the nets are to be lowered down and drawn up, the course which is to be steered, and the tack on which they are to stand.

The fishing is entirely done at night. The trawls are let down about dusk, and the fleet attached to these moving anchors forge slowly ahead and to leeward, until daybreak. Then the trawls are got in, and the fleet sail in a body to the spot where the admiral decides that fishing shall be continued in the evening. At 10 o'clock at night the trawls are hauled in, and the nets emptied. All hands are called up for this operation. When it is concluded, the trawl is again lowered and the fish cleaned and packed; by the light of a torch formed of rope, dipped in tar. The watch who have hitherto been on deck turn in, and the others remain on deck until morning, when the nets are again hauled in.

There is not, indeed, much for the watch to do; as the smack needs no steering, and the attention of the men on deck is directed chiefly to see that no other smack drifts down upon them. Should there appear any danger of this, a flare is lit to warn the other smacksmen. The trawl rope is slacked out or hauled in, as the case may require and, generally, volleys of strong language pass between the respective crews.

The trawl beam is a heavy pole, some 30 or 35 feet long. At each end are fitted strong iron hoops, of about three feet in diameter. These keep the pole from touching the ground, and keep open the mouth of the net; one side of which is attached to the pole, while the other drags along the bottom. The net resembles in shape a long, deep purse; and has various pockets and other contrivances by which, when a fish has once entered its mouth, it is prevented from returning.

The trawl rope—which is from 40 to 80 yards in length, according to the depth of water—is hauled in by means of a winch; and its great weight taxes the united strength of the crew, to get it level with the bulwark. When it is up, the net is hauled on board, the small end is opened, and the fish tumble on to the deck. They are then separated and packed in trunks—as the wooden cases, in which they are sent to market, are called.

Soles fetch by far the highest price, and fortunate are the crew who get a good haul of this fish; for the men work upon shares, an account being kept of all the sales made, during the fishing trip. The owner deducts the cost of the provisions and stores which have been put on board, and takes one or more shares for the vessel. Each man has one share, the skipper and mate receiving rather a larger proportion than the others; thus the men have a lively interest in each haul, and great is the satisfaction when the net comes up well filled, and there is seen to be a good proportion of soles among the contents.

The coarse fish—as they are called—include brill, haddock, hake, ling, whiting, and many others. Turbot are also caught. In each haul there would probably be a vast number of objects which would delight the heart of a naturalist. Dog fish, too, are sometimes taken; as are conger eels, and horse mackerel. Stones, and oysters, too, come up in the nets; and the latter are the betes-noires of the fishing. Sometimes, when the fleet gets over a bed of oysters, a score of nets will be lost in a single night for, when the bag becomes full of oysters, its weight is so great that the utmost power of the fishermen's exertions, on the winch, is insufficient to lift it from the bottom; and there is nothing to be done but to cut the rope, and abandon trawl and net. Upon these occasions the language applied to the admiral is scarcely of a kind for polite ears.

The food of the crews, when once upon the fishing ground, consists almost wholly of fish. With the exception of soles, each man may select any fish he fancies from the glistening mass upon the deck; and the amount which each consumed at a meal at first astonished William Gale, accustomed as he was to meager workhouse rations. He soon, however, found himself able to keep up with the rest; but the operation of frying seemed sometimes interminable, so many times had the pan to be filled and emptied.

Hard biscuits were eaten with the fish, and the whole washed down with copious draughts of tea, without milk. Two or three times a week the men would, as a change, have a meal of salt meat; and on Sundays a duff—or pudding—of flour and currants was made.

A few days after joining the fleet the weather changed, the sky became gloomy and threatening. The wind blew hard, and a heavy sea got up. Will found that keeping watch at night—which was pleasant enough on a fine, star-light night—was a very different thing, now. It was no joke looking ahead with the wind blowing fiercely, and showers of spray dashing into the eyes; and yet a vigilant watch must be kept for, if the rockets which ordered the hauling of the trawl were not noticed, some other smack, moving rapidly when released from the drag of its net, might at any moment come into collision with the smack.

Still more important was it to notice upon which side the trawl was to be lowered, after being emptied; and upon which tack the vessel was to proceed. For a mistake in this respect would be certain to bring the smack across another; in which case the trawl ropes would become entangled—involving, in a heavy sea, the certain loss of one or the other. Many of the smacks carry dogs, and it is found that these become even better watchers than their masters; for they can be relied on to call the attention of the watch, by sharp barking, to the letting up of the rocket, however distant.

A rocket may seem to be an easy thing to see but, in a large fleet, the stern-most smacks may be three or four miles away from the leaders and, in a dark, thick night, it is exceedingly difficult to make out even a rocket, at that distance.

The wind increased to a gale. The trawls were up now, and the fleet lay to. It may be explained that this operation is performed by bringing a ship nearly into the eye of the wind, and then hauling the foresail across, and belaying the sheet. The aft sail—or mizzen—is then hauled tight, and the tiller lashed amidships. As the fore-sail pays the vessel off from the wind, the after sail brings her up again; and she is thus kept nearly head to sea, and the crew go below, and wait till the storm abates.

CHAPTER 4: RUN DOWN.

William Gale was astonished at the fury of the tempest, and the wildness of the sea. Although, at the workhouse, he had often heard the wind roaring round the walls, there was nothing to show him the force that was being exerted. There were but few trees in the neighborhood, and William had hardly ever been without the walls, except in fine summer weather. He was, therefore, almost bewildered by the force and fury of the gale; and by the noise, as it shrieked through the rigging, and howled across the water. The occasional flapping of the sails, and the rattling of the heavy blocks added to the din; and it seemed to him that the Kitty which, like all fishing smacks, was very deep in the water, must be completely engulfed by the great waves which swept down upon her.

Several times, indeed, he was obliged to leap down into the cabin, to avoid being swept away by the great masses of green water which—pouring over her bows—swept aft, carrying away all before them. But the Yarmouth smacks are admirable sea boats and, pounded and belabored as she was, the Kitty always shook off the water that smothered her, and rose again for the next wave. In twenty-four hours the gale abated, the scattered fleet were assembled—each flying its flag—and it was found that three were missing, having either foundered, or been driven away from their consorts.

With the return of fine weather the fishing began again, and William thoroughly enjoyed his life. The skipper was kind and forbearing; he neither ill treated the boys, himself, nor permitted any of the crew to do so; and everything went on regularly and comfortably. There were a few books on board and, of an evening, after the trawl was lowered and before the watch below turned into their bunks, William—who was the best reader on board—would be asked to read aloud for an hour. Sometimes there were songs and, as the Kitty was fortunate, and her taking of fish good, the men were all cheerful and good tempered.

Once every three or four days, the collecting steamer came in sight; then there was a general race, in the fleet, to put the trunks of fish on board her. Each did his best to be in good time for, when the catch had been heavy, the steamer was sometimes unable to take the whole of it; in which case the portion left behind would be wholly spoilt, before the arrival of another steamer. The whole of the fleet, therefore, ran down towards the steamer as soon as she was seen; the heavy boats were tossed overboard, and the trunk lowered into them, and two hands jumped in to row them to the steamer. Round her a swarm of boats would soon be collected, each striving to get alongside, to deliver the fish.

In calm weather the scene was simply amusing but, when the sea was high, it was exciting and even dangerous; indeed, in the course of a year more lives are lost, in the process of taking the fish from the smack to the steamer, than in vessels foundered by gales.

Sometimes the fleet will be joined by Dutch trading smacks, who exchange fresh bread and meat, tobacco, and spirits for fish. This traffic is the cause, alike, of loss to the owners, by the fish thus parted with; and of injury to the men, by the use of spirits. Fortunately the skipper of the Kitty—although not averse to the use of spirits, on shore—was a strict man at sea, and saw that no one took more than a single glass of grog, of an evening.

Over and over again, Will congratulated himself that he had the good fortune to make his first voyage under such a skipper; for he shuddered at the stories Jack told him, of the cruelties and barbarities with which apprentices are treated on board some of the smacks. Although, however, there is no doubt many brutal skippers hail from Yarmouth; the fleet from that town bears a good reputation, in comparison with that of Grimsby—where the number of apprentices returned as drowned, each year, is appalling.

One night, when the wind was high and the fleet trawling lower down the North Sea than usual, Will—who was on deck—was startled at seeing a great ship bearing down upon the smack. He gave a shout of terror and warning, which was joined in by the crew on deck. One ran for the hatchet to cut the trawl, and thus give steerage way to the smack.

It was too late. In another moment the great ship bore down upon them with a crash, and the Kitty sunk beneath the waves. The bowsprit of the vessel projected across the deck, just at the point where William Gale was standing and, in a moment, he caught at the bob stay and quickly hauled himself on to the bowsprit. Climbing along this, he was soon on board.

Two or three sailors were leaning over the bows, peering into the darkness. They had not seen the smack, until too late to avoid it; and the collision, which had proved fatal to the Kitty, had scarcely been felt by the ship. Will was at ones taken to the captain, who spoke English. The boy implored him to turn back, but the captain shook his head.

"It would be useless," he said; "the sea is heavy and, in these long boots—" and he pointed to the sea boots, up to the thigh, which all fishermen wear, "—no man could swim for two minutes; nor would there be a chance, if they could, of our finding them on so dark a night. I am very sorry, my lad, but it cannot be helped. It would take half an hour to bring the ship about, and go back to the spot where the smack sunk; and we might not get within half a mile of it. You know that, as well as I do."

Will had been long enough at sea to recognize the truth of what the captain said. As he was led forward, he burst into tears at the thought of the loss of his kind friend the captain, and the rest of his mates. The sailor who accompanied him patted him on the back, and spoke cheeringly to him in a foreign language; and he was soon between decks with the crew. Several of these could speak English, and Will found that he was on board a Dutch merchantman, bound with troops for Java.

The wind got up and, in the morning, it was blowing a heavy gale from the east; and the vessel, with reefed topsails, was running for the straits between Dover and Calais, at twelve knots an hour. After breakfast, the captain sent for William.

"I am sorry, for your sake, that the state of the weather will prevent our communicating with any ship we may meet. But I promise you that, if the gale breaks before we are fairly out from the channel, I will heave to and put you on board a homeward-bound ship."

Such a chance did not occur. For four or five days the gale continued with great severity and, before it ceased, the ship was well down the coast of Spain, on her way south. When the captain saw that there was but small chance of his being able to transship his involuntary passenger, he said to him:

"Look you, my lad. I fear that you will have to make the voyage with me, for we shall not touch at any port, until we arrive at our destination. If you like, I will ship you as a hand on board, as from the day of the collision. A hand, more or less, will make no difference to the owners; and the money will be useful to you, when you leave the ship. Of course, you can return in her, if you think fit; but it is likely enough that, when we reach Java, we may be sent up to China for a homeward cargo—in which case I will procure you a passage in the first ship sailing for your home."

Will gladly accepted the offer. He was, however, by no means penniless for, upon the morning after his coming on board, the Dutch officers and passengers—hearing what had happened in the night—made a collection among themselves, and presented the boy with a purse containing fifteen pounds.

It was a long voyage, but not an unpleasant one for William. His duties were not very heavy—he had far less to do than had been the case, on board the smack. A month on board the Kitty had done much towards making a sailor of him, for there are no better seamen in the world than the Yarmouth smacksmen. Going aloft was, at first, a trial; but he soon learned his duties and, being a strong and active lad, he was quickly able to do efficient work; and speedily gained the good opinion of the Dutch sailors, by his good temper and anxiety to please.

They ran some little distance to the south of the Cape before shaping an easterly course, to avoid the bad weather so frequently met with there and, beyond encountering two or three gales, of no exceptional severity, nothing occurred to break the monotony of the voyage, until the coasts of Java were in sight. Upon their arrival in port, they found no vessel there about to sail for Europe; and the captain's expectation was fulfilled, as he found orders awaiting him to proceed to China, when he had landed the troops and discharged his cargo. Will determined to continue his voyage in her to that place.

Among the ship boys on board was one between whom, and Will Gale, a great friendship had been struck up. He was a year or two Will's senior, but scarcely so tall; upon the other hand, he was nearly twice his girth. He talked but little, but his broad face was ever alight with a good-tempered grin. He spoke a few words of English; and Will had, when first picked up, been given specially into his charge. Will's superior activity and energy astonished the Dutch lad, whose movements were slow and heavy; while Will, on his part, was surprised at the strength which Hans could exert, when he chose. One day, when Will had been plaguing him, and ventured within his reach, the lad had seized and held him out at arm's length, shaking him as a dog would a rat, till he shouted for mercy.

The two were soon able to get on in a queer mixture of Dutch and English and, when words failed, they would eke out their words by gestures.

The vessel had sailed but a few days from Java when there were signs of a change of weather. Hitherto it had been lovely; now a slight mist seemed to hang over the sea while, overhead, it was clear and bright. There was not a breath of wind, and the sails hung listlessly against the masts. Will—who was leaning against the bulwarks, chatting to Hans—observed the captain, after looking round at the horizon, go into his cabin. He reappeared in a minute, and spoke to the officer; who immediately shouted an order for "all hands to shorten sail."

"What is that for?" Will said, wonderingly; "there is not a breath of wind."

"I egzpect captain haz looked at glass," Hans said, "find him fall. I egzpect we going to have ztorm—very bad ztorms in dese zeas."

Will ran aloft with the sailors and, in ten minutes, every inch of canvas—with the exception of a small stay sail—was stripped from the ship. Still, there was not a breath of wind. The sea was as smooth as glass, save for a slight ground swell. Although the mist did not seem to thicken, a strange darkness hung over the sky; as if, high up, a thick fog had gathered. Darker and darker it grew, until there was little more than a pale twilight. The men stood in twos and threes, watching the sea and sky, and talking together in low tones.

"I don't like this, Hans," Will said. "There is something awful about it."

"We have big ztorm," Hans replied, "zyclone they call him."

Scarcely had Hans spoken when the sky above seemed to open, with a crash. A roar of thunder, louder than ten thousand pieces of artillery, pealed around them while, at the same moment, a blinding flash of lightning struck the mainmast, shivering it into splinters, and prostrating to the deck five seamen who were standing round its foot. As if a signal had been given by the peal of thunder, a tremendous blast of wind smote the vessel and, stripped though she was of sails, heaved her over almost to the gunwale.

For a moment, the crew were paralyzed by the suddenness of the catastrophe; stunned by the terrible thunder, and blinded by the lightning. None seemed capable of moving. Will had instinctively covered his eyes with his hands. It seemed to him, for a moment, that his sight was gone. Then the voice of the captain was heard, shouting:

"Helm, hard up. Out axes, and cut away the wreck, at once!"

Those who were least stupefied by the shock sprang, in a dazed and stupid way, to obey the order. Will drew out his knife and, feeling rather than seeing what he was doing, tried to assist in cutting away the shrouds of the fallen mast—it had gone a few feet above the deck. Presently he seemed, as he worked, to recover from his stupor; and the power of sight came back to him. Then he saw that the vessel—taken on the broadside by the gale—was lying far over, with several feet of her lee deck under water. So furious was the wind that he could not show his head over the weather bulwark. The sea was still smooth, as if the water was flattened by the force of the wind. The stay sail had been blown into ribbons.

In order to get the ship's head off the wind, the head of the jib was hauled up a few feet. It happened to be a new and strong one and, although it bellied and lashed, as if it would tear itself into fragments, it still stood. Again the captain gave an order, and the sail was hauled up to its full height. Still further the vessel heaved over; and Will expected, every moment, that she would capsize. Then, gradually, her head paid off, and slowly she righted, and flew before the gale.

"That was a near squeak," Will said.

"What is zqueak?" Hans shouted.

"I mean a close shave," Will replied.

Hans' blue eyes opened wider than usual.

"A zhave!" he repeated; "what are you talking about zhaving?"

"No, no," Will said, laughing, "I mean a narrow escape of being capsized."

Hans nodded. There was no time for talk, for orders were given for getting preventer stays on the foremast. The jib, having done its work, had been hauled down the instant the ship payed off; and a small storm sail set, in its place.

The men now had time to attend to those who had been struck by lightning. Three of them were found to be dead, but the other two—who were stunned and senseless—still lived, and were lifted and carried below.

Serious as the disaster had been, Will felt that the stroke of lightning had saved the ship. The pressure of the wind, upon two masts and hull, had nearly sufficed to capsize her. Had the main mast stood, he felt that she must have gone over.

The sea got up in a very few minutes but, being now only in light ballast, the vessel rose easily over them. Four men were at the helm, for the waves soon became so high that the ship yawed dangerously on her course. The gale seemed to increase, rather than diminish in fury; and the sea, instead of following in regular waves, became a perfect chaos of tossing water, such as Will had never before seen. He understood it, however, when—half an hour after the outburst of the gale—he heard one of the men, who had just been relieved at the wheel, say that in that time the ship had already run twice round the compass. She was therefore in the very center of the cyclone, and the strangely tossed sea was accounted for.

The motion of the ship was extraordinary. Sometimes she was thrown on one side, sometimes on the other. Mountains of water seemed to rise suddenly beside her, and tumbled in great green masses over the bulwarks. So wild and sudden were her movements that even the oldest sailors were unable to keep their feet; and all clung on to shrouds, or belaying pins. Will and Hans had lashed themselves by the slack of a rope to the bulwarks, close to each other, and there clung on; sometimes half drowned by the waves, which poured in above them; sometimes torn from their feet by the rush of green water, as the ship plunged, head foremost, into a wave, or shipped one over her poop.

Presently there was a crash that sounded even above the fury of the gale—the fore top-mast had gone, at the cap. The axes were again called into requisition, for a blow from the floating spar would have instantly stove in the side. While engaged upon this, the captain called two of the men with axes aft. These were set to work to chop through the shrouds of the mizzen and, in a minute later, the mast snapped asunder on the level of the deck, and went over the side with a crash, carrying away several feet of the bulwark. This act was necessitated by the loss of the fore top-mast, as the pressure of the wind upon the mizzen would have brought her head up, and laid her broadside to the gale.

The motion of the vessel was now considerably easier, and there was no longer any difficulty in keeping her dead before the wind. She was now describing much larger circles in her course, showing that she was farther removed from the center of the cyclone. After five or six hours, the extreme violence of the wind somewhat abated, and it seemed to settle down into a heavy gale.

For two days the vessel ran before it. She had made a good deal of water, from the opening of the seams by straining, and the pumps were kept going. They were, they found, able to prevent the water from gaining upon them; and all felt that they should weather the tempest, provided that they were not dashed upon any of the islands in which this portion of the ocean abounds.

The crew had had no regular meals, since the gale began; for the caboose had been broken up, and washed overboard, soon after the commencement of the storm; and they had been obliged to be content with biscuits. There was little to be done on deck and, the watch over, they passed their time in their bunks.

In the afternoon of the third day of the tempest, the cry was raised of "Breakers ahead!" Will, with his comrades of the watch below, sprang from their berths and hurried on deck. Far ahead, as the vessel lifted on the waves, could be seen a gleam of white water.

In anticipation of such a danger, a small spar had been erected upon the stump of the mizzen, and steadied with strong stays. Sail was now hoisted upon this, and an effort was made to bring the vessel's head to wind. Watching for a favorable moment between the passage of the heavy seas, the helm was put down and, slowly, her head came up into the wind. Under such sail, the captain had no hope of being able to reach out, in the teeth of the gale; but he hoped to be able to claw off the shore until clear of the land, which lay to leeward of him.

That hope soon vanished. One of the mates was sent to the top of the foremast, and descended with news that, as far as could be seen, the line of breakers stretched away, both on her beam and quarter. As the minutes went by the anxious crew could see, but too clearly, that the ship was drifting down upon the land; and that she must inevitably be wrecked upon it.

The outlines of the shore could now be seen—a forest of tossing trees, behind which high land could be made out, through the driving clouds. Orders were now given to prepare to anchor, but all knew that the chances were slight, indeed. The water is for the most part deep, close alongside the islands of the Eastern Archipelago and, even were the holding ground good, hemp and iron would hardly hold the vessel head to the gale, and tremendous sea.

When within a quarter of a mile of the breakers, the man with the lead proclaimed a depth of ten fathoms. This was better than they had expected. The jib was lowered, and her head brought dead to wind. The captain shouted "cut," and, in an instant, the stoppers were severed, and two heavy anchors dropt into the sea. One had a heavy chain cable, the other hemp; and these were allowed to run out to the bits. The vessel brought up with less shock than could be expected. A wave or two passed under her, and still her cable held.

A gleam of hope began to reign, when a mountainous sea was seen, approaching. Higher and higher it rose and, just as it reached the ship, it curled over and crashed down upon her deck. The cables snapped like pack thread, and a cry of despair arose from the crew. The captain was calm and collected, and shouted orders for the jib to be again hoisted, and the helm put up; so as to run her, head first, on to the shore.

As they neared the line of breakers, they could see heads of jagged rocks rising among them while, beyond, a belt of smooth water—a quarter of a mile wide—extended to the land. The ship's head was directed towards a point where no rocks appeared above the surface. Everyone held their breath and, clinging to the bulwarks, awaited the shock.

The vessel lifted on a great wave, just as she came to the line of broken water and, as she settled down, struck with a tremendous crash. So great was the shock that she broke in two, amidships, as if she had been made of paper; the portion aft going instantly to pieces and, at once, the sea around was covered with fragments of wreck, bales, boxes, and casks. Another great sea followed, filling the now open ship, forcing up the deck, and sweeping everything before it.

William Gale and Hans had gone as far forward as possible.

"Come out to the end of the bowsprit," Will said to Hans; and the two lads crawled out together, and sat on the end of the spar.

The sea beneath them was white as milk, with the foam which poured over the reef; but Will thought that they were beyond the rocks. Every sea which struck the wreck added to the disaster; until a larger one than usual struck it, and broke it into fragments. The lads clung to the spar, as it fell. It sank deep in the water, but they retained their hold until it came to the surface, and Will looked round.

They were safely beyond the edge of the reef. The sea was still rough and broken; but it was quiet, compared to that beyond the reef. He saw that the fore mast was floating near and, to it, several were clinging.

In a quarter of an hour the spar floated to land, the boys felt the bottom with their feet, and soon scrambled ashore. A few minutes later the fore mast also drifted up; and several men, clinging to fragments of the wreck, were also cast ashore. In all eleven men, including the first mate, were saved.

CHAPTER 5: THE CASTAWAYS.

After waiting on the shore, until all hope that any more of their shipmates survived was at an end, the party—by the mate's orders—detached a sail from a yard that had drifted ashore, and carried it well into the wood; where they were sheltered, to some extent, from the force of the gale. A stout pole was then cut, and lashed between two trees. The sail was thrown over this, and pegged down at both sides. A fire was lit, with some difficulty. Then a quantity of ferns and branches of trees were cut. These made a soft and elastic bed, and the whole party slept heavily until the morning.

Then they went back to the shore. It was littered thickly with fragments of wreck, casks, boxes, and other articles. Here, too, were nearly a score of the corpses of their shipmates. The first duty was to dig a long shallow trench in the sand, beyond high water mark; and in this the bodies of their drowned comrades were laid.

The storm was now breaking. Glimpses of blue sky were visible overhead, and the wind had greatly abated. The sea upon the reef was, however, as high as ever. Setting to work, they hauled a large number of boxes and bales beyond the reach of the waves. One of the casks contained biscuits and, knocking in the head, they helped themselves to its contents, and sat down to talk over their position.

"I am not sure," the mate said, "that our poor comrades there—" and he nodded towards the grave, "—have not the best of it. The inhabitants of most of these islands are bloodthirsty pirates who, if they find us, will either cut our throats at once, or keep us as slaves. Our only hope is that we may not be discovered, until we have time to build a boat in which to sail away to Singapore, or back to Java.

"Had we been wrecked further south, things would have been more hopeful; for the Papuans are friendly, and inoffensive people. These islands here are inhabited by Malays, the most bloodthirsty pirates in the world. However, we must hope that we may not be found, before we have finished a boat.

"My chest is among those which have been washed up, and there are a few tools in it. I always had a fancy for carpentry; and it's hard if, in a fortnight, we cannot make some sort of craft which will carry us. Indeed, if we content ourselves with a strong framework, covered with canvas, we may be ready in four or five days."

The men set cheerfully to work, under his directions. In his chest was a hatchet, saw, and chisels. With these, young trees of flexible wood were cut down and split. A keel was laid, 25 feet in length. Cross pieces, 12 feet long, were pegged to this by trenails—nails formed of tough and hard wood. The cross pieces were then bent upwards, and fastened to the strips which were to form the gunwale. Strengthening pieces were placed along, at distances of 7 or 8 inches apart, and firmly lashed. When the whole was finished, after three days' labor, the framework of a boat 25 feet long, 3 feet deep, and 7 feet in beam stood upon the beach. A barrel of oil had been thrown ashore and, with this, the mate intended thoroughly to soak the canvas with which the frame was to be covered. The boat would, he calculated, carry the whole of the men, with an ample store of food and water for the voyage.

Upon the morning of the fourth day as, on their way to work, they emerged from the wood upon the open beach, the mate gave a low cry, and pointed along the shore. There, between the reef and the island, was a large Malay prahu. The party instantly fell back among the trees. The Malays were apparently cruising along the reef, to see if the late storm had thrown up the wreckage—which might be useful to them—and a loud shout proclaimed their satisfaction, as they saw the shore strewn with the remains of the Dutch ship. The prahu was rowed to the shore, and fifty or sixty Malays sprang from the bows on to the sand.

Scarcely had they done so when a shout, from one of them, called the attention of the others to the framework of the boat. There was a minute's loud and excited chatter among them. Then they dashed forward to the wood, the deep footsteps in the sand showing, plainly enough, the direction from which the builders of the boat had come and gone. The latter, as the Malay boat neared the shore, had retired further into the wood but, from the screen of leaves, they were able to see what was going on. As they saw the Malays rush, in an excited and yelling throng, towards the wood, the little party took to their heels.

"Scatter," the mate said. "Together, they are sure to overtake us; singly, we may escape."

"Let us keep together, Hans," Will said, as they dashed along through the wild jungle. Torn by thorns, often thrown down by projecting roots and low creepers, they kept on; their pace at times quickening, as shouts and screams told them that some of their comrades had fallen into the hands of the Malays. Presently they came upon the little stream which flowed into the sea, close to where they had been cast ashore.

"Let us follow this up," Will said. "They can track us, through the forest; but the water will set them off our scent."

For a quarter of a mile, they followed the course of the stream; stopping breathlessly, many times, as they heard voices in the wood, not far off. Presently Will pointed to a tree, rising from a clump of bushes, close to the bank.

"Let us get through those bushes," he said. "Be careful, Hans, not to break a twig, as you go. We can climb that tree. There are plants, with stems like cords, winding round it. The top is so thick and bushy that I don't think they can see us, there."

Very carefully they parted the bushes that overhung the stream, and entered the thicket. Then they made their way, with great difficulty, to the foot of the tree. It was a very large one, with a trunk fully 15 feet in diameter, rising some forty feet without a branch. Then a number of great arms grew out, at right angles. These were covered thickly with parasitic vegetation. Round the trunk, like a snake embracing its victim, a great climber had wound itself. Its main stem was as thick as a man's arm, and there were dozens of smaller, cord-like climbers. Thus, the lads had no difficulty in climbing to the point where the branches grew out. Above these was a mass of foliage, completely covered by the climbers; whose drooping sprays, and clusters, gave the tree the appearance of a solid mass of verdure. The boys continued to climb until they were nearly at the top of the tree.

"There!" Will said, wiping away the perspiration which streamed from his face, "if they do not track us through the bushes to the very foot of this tree, I defy them to find us."

For some hours, the wood was alive with noises. The Malays were evidently beating every foot of it, and were determined that none of their victims should escape. Several times parties of men came up the stream, searching the banks on both sides but, happily, even their sharp eyes did not detect the spot where the boys had entered the bushes and, gradually, the noises ceased and, at night, a great glare by the seashore told the lads that their enemies had gathered again there; and were continuing, by fire light, the work of breaking open and examining the treasures which the sea had cast up for them.

"What do you zay, Will? Zhall we get down and go furder into wood, or zhall we wait here?"

"I think, anyhow, we had better wait till tomorrow night," Will answered. "They may search again, tomorrow, and might come upon our tracks. If they don't find us, they may suppose that they have caught us all, or that we have escaped right into the interior. If they find no traces of us they will, likely enough, set sail before night."

There was no difficulty in finding a place in which they could sleep; for the cord-like climbers from bough to bough formed natural cradles, in which they lay as securely as if in a hammock, on board a ship. In the morning they were woke, at daybreak, by the cries of the many birds which throng the forests of the Eastern Archipelago. No one approached them during the day, and they doubted not that the Malays were all hard at work, on the shore.

That night there was no reflection of a fire on the beach. In the morning they descended from their perches and made their way carefully, and as noiselessly as possible, through the wood; to a point upon the shore, a mile distant from the point where they landed. Going to the edge of the trees, they were enabled to take a view along the shore. It was deserted. The Malay prahu was gone.

Confident that none of their enemies would have remained behind, they walked boldly along the shore to the spot where the Malays had landed. Every box and barrel had been broken open, and the contents carried away. Planks and beams had been split asunder, to obtain the copper bolts and fastenings. The framework of the boat had been destroyed, and every portion of canvas and rope carried away. The lads sat down on the shore.

"What shall we do next, Hans?"

Hans shook his head.

"Perhaps some of the others may have got away, and may join us here, today or tomorrow. If any are alive, they would be certain to come back here, when they thought the Malays had left."

Hans grunted an assent.

"Anyhow, the first thing to do," Will went on, "is to gather up the pieces of biscuits. They have wasted lots, in breaking open the barrels, and I am famishing."

Hans rose with alacrity, and they soon were at work collecting pieces of biscuits.

"Let us gather up all the pieces, carefully. There are a good lot, altogether; and we may want them, badly, before we have done."

In half an hour they had collected about 30 pounds of biscuits and, having gone to the stream and taken a drink, they made for the spot where their tent had stood. As they expected, they found the canvas was gone. They set to work with their knives and, cutting a number of boughs, erected a shelter sufficient to shield them from the night air.

All day they hoped, but in vain, that some of their comrades would return, and listened eagerly to every sound in the forest; but no call, or footstep, met their ears. They had no means of lighting a fire, the first having been lit by the mate who—being a smoker—had had a small tin box of matches in his pocket. This had fitted closely, and kept out the water.

"What had we better do, if no one comes back?" Will said, as they sat in their little hut.

"Build anoder boat," Hans answered.

"But how are we to do that, Hans? We might make the framework, but we have no canvas to cover it with. Besides, even if we had, I have no idea of the direction of Singapore, and I doubt if we could find our way back to Java."

Hans had no further suggestion to offer.

"I suppose we could live in the forest for some time," Will said. "I read a book called Robinson Crusoe, and a sailor there lived on a desert island for years; but then he had a gun, and all sorts of things. There are plenty of birds but, even if we could make bows and arrows, I suppose we should be months before we could shoot straight enough to hit them."

Several days passed. The lads found plenty of fruit; but the season was advancing, and Will said one day to Hans:

"What on earth are we to do, when the fruit and biscuits are all finished?"

Wandering in the woods, they found the bodies of the whole of their companions. All were headless, the Malays having carried off these coveted trophies. They did not attempt to bury the bodies for, in such a climate, decomposition sets in rapidly, and swarms of insects complete the work. In the grass near the hut they found one treasure—the mate's ax—which had evidently fallen from his belt, in his flight, and had been overlooked by the Malays.

"I tell you what, Hans," Will said, one day, "fruit is getting scarcer and scarcer, and there are not more than five or six pounds of biscuits left. I vote that we make through the forest into the interior of the island. There must be some villages scattered about. If we enter one boldly, they may not kill us. I don't know whether they have any respect for the laws of hospitality, as some savages have but, even if they did kill us, it's better than being starved to death, here. It's a chance, anyhow.

"What do you say, Hans?"

"I don't zay noding," Hans answered. "I don't have no obinion, at all. If you dink zat is ze best plan, let us do it."

So saying, Hans collected the biscuit, tied it up in his handkerchief, and was ready to start at once.

"There is no hurry, Hans," Will said, laughing; "still, if we are to make a start, we may as well go at once."

Turning their backs upon the sea, they struck into the wood. They had never before gone farther than a mile from the shore. After an hour's walking, they found that the character of the forest was changing: the ground rose rapidly, the thick, tangled undergrowth disappeared, and they were able to walk briskly forward, under the shade of the large trees. The hill became steeper and steeper, as they advanced; and Will knew that they were ascending the hill that they had seen from the ship, when she was coming towards the shore.

Three hours after leaving the coast, they were upon its top. The ground was rocky here and, in some places, bare of trees. Inland, they saw hill rising behind hill, and knew that the island must be a large one.

"Look, Hans, there is smoke curling up at the foot of that hill, over there. Don't you see it? It is very faint, but it is certainly smoke. There must be a house there and, most likely, a village.

"Come on, we shall get there before the sun sets. I don't think it can be more than a mile and a half away."

Hans, as usual, assented and, in about half an hour, they arrived at a Malay village. The aspect was curious, each hut being built in a tree. At the point where the lower branches started, a platform was made. The tree above this was cut down, and on the platform the hut was erected—access being obtained to it by a ladder. Several of the inhabitants were walking about. These, upon seeing the lads, uttered cries of warning and, instantly flying to the ladders, which were constructed of light bamboo, climbed to the huts and raised the ladders after them. Then, at every door, men appeared with bent bows and pointed arrows, threatening the invaders.

Will had cut a green bough, and this he waved as a token of peace; while Hans threw up his hands, to show that he was unarmed. Then they bowed several times, almost to the ground; held out their arms with outstretched hands and, finally, sat down upon the ground.

The Malays apparently understood that their visitors came in peace. They held a long conversation among themselves and, at last, the ladder of one of the huts—which appeared larger and better finished than the others—was lowered, and four men descended. One of these carried a kriss in his hand. His bow was slung behind his back. The others kept their bows bent in readiness for instant action.

The chief was a tall and well-built man, of about forty years of age. He, like his followers, was dressed only in a loincloth; he had copper bracelets round his wrists. As he approached, the lads rose and bowed deeply; then Will held out to him the ax and, placing it in his hand, motioned to him that it was a present.

The chief looked pleased at the gift, placed his hands on Will's shoulder and nodded, and performed the same gesture to Hans. Then he led them towards his hut, and motioned to them to sit down at the foot of the tree.

Curious faces were watching from every hut and, as soon as it was seen that peace was established, the ladders were lowered and a swarm of men, women, and children soon surrounded the visitors. At the chief's order a woman approached them, bringing a dish of food. This was composed, the boys found, principally of birds; cut up and stewed, with some sort of vegetable. The dish was by no means bad and, after living for nearly a fortnight upon biscuit and fruit, they much enjoyed it.

Presently, women brought bundles of dried fern and spread them at the foot of the tree and, soon after it was dark, the boys lay down upon them. It was long, however, before they went to sleep; for the din and chatter in the village continued, until far into the night. The lads guessed that the reason and manner of their coming was warmly debated; and judged by their reception that the prevailing opinions were favorable, and that the visit from the two white men was considered to be a fortunate omen.

The next day they were again amply supplied with food, and were constantly surrounded by a little group of women and children, to whom their white skins appeared a source of constant wonder. Their movements were entirely unchecked, and they were evidently considered in the light of guests rather than prisoners.

The next night the village retired to rest early. The boys sat talking together, for a long time, and then lay down to sleep. Presently, Will thought that he heard a noise and, looking up, saw in the moonlight a number of savages, stealthily approaching. They carried with them ladders; and intended, he had no doubt, to surprise the sleeping villagers. They were already close at hand.

Will shook Hans—who had already gone off to sleep—and pointed out to him the advancing foes. These were already in the village and, separating, fixed a ladder against each of the huts. So far the boys, who lay in the shadow of the hut, had not been noticed. The Malays—who belonged to a hostile village—began to climb the ladders; when the lads, grasping the heavy sticks which they always carried, and springing to their feet with loud shouts, ran to the ladders, before the Malays could recover from their astonishment at the approach of the white-faced men, rushing upon them.

Half a dozen of the ladders were upset, the men who had mounted them coming heavily to the ground. Some of these, as they rose, at once took to their heels; others, drawing their krisses, rushed at their assailants. But the lads were no longer alone. At the first shout, the doors of the huts had opened; and the inhabitants rushed out, with their arms. The remaining ladders were instantly overthrown, and a shower of arrows poured upon their assailants.

Will and Hans knocked down the foremost of their assailants; and the whole body, foiled in their attempted surprise, discomfited at the appearance of the strange white-faced men, and exposed to the arrows of the defenders, at once darted away—several of their number having already fallen, under the shafts from above. With exulting shouts, the warriors of the village poured down their ladders from the huts, and took up the pursuit; and soon no one remained in the village, save the white lads and the women and children.

Towards morning the warriors returned, several of them bringing with them gory heads, showing that their pursuit had not been in vain. The village was now the scene of great rejoicings. Huge fires were lighted, and a feast held in honor of the victory. The chief solemnly placed the white men, one on each side of him, and made them a speech; in which, by his bowing and placing his hand on their heads, they judged he was thanking them for having preserved their village from massacre. Indeed, it was clear, from the respectful manner of all towards them, that they were regarded in the light of genii, who had come specially to protect the village from the assaults of its enemies.

After the feast was over the chief, after a consultation with the rest, pointed to a tree close to that in which his own hut was situated. The whole village set to work, ladders were fixed against it; and the men, ascending, hacked away with krisses and stone hatchets at the trunk. Hans—seeing their object—made signs to the chief to lend him his ax and, ascending to the tree, set to work with it; doing, in five minutes, more work than the whole of the natives employed could have accomplished in an hour. After working for some time, he handed the ax to one of the natives, who continued the work. The tree was not a large one—the trunk, at this point, being about 18 inches in diameter. Half an hour's work sufficed to cut it through; and the upper part of the tree fell, with a crash.

In the meantime the women had brought in, from the forest, a quantity of bamboos and, with these, the men set to work and speedily formed a platform. Upon this a hut was erected, the roof and sides being covered with palm leaves laid closely together, forming a roof impervious to rain. Two large bundles of fern, for beds, were then taken up; and the chief, ascending, solemnly invited the boys to come up and take possession.

A woman was told off to prepare food for them, and attend to their wants and, by nightfall, the lads found themselves in a comfortable abode of their own. Pulling up the ladder, after the manner of the natives, they sat down to chat over their altered prospects. They were now clearly regarded as adopted into the village community, and need have no further fear as to their personal security, or means of living.

"For the time we are safe," Will said; "but—as I don't want to turn Malay, and live all my life with no other amusement than keeping my own head on, and hunting for those of the enemies of the village—we must think of making our escape, somehow; though at present, I own I don't see how."

CHAPTER 6: THE ATTACK ON THE VILLAGE.

A day or two later a Malay ran at full speed into the village, and said a few words which caused a perfect hubbub of excitement. The men shouted. The women screamed and, running up the ladders to their tree abodes, began gathering together the various articles of value, in their eyes. The chief came up to the boys and, by signs, intimated that a large number of hostile natives, belonging to several villages, were advancing to attack them; and that they must fly into the interior.

This was very unwelcome news for the lads. Once removed farther from the sea the tribe might, not improbably, take up their abode there, as they would fear to return to the neighborhood of their enemies. This would be fatal to any chance of the lads being taken off by a passing ship. After a few words together, they determined to oppose the movement. Will, in a loud voice and with threatening gestures, intimated that he disapproved of the plan, and that he and his companion would assist them in defending their village.

The Malays paused in their preparations. Their faith in their white visitors was very great and, after a few minutes' talk among themselves, they intimated to the boys that they would obey their orders. Will at once signed to a few men to stand as guards round the village, to warn them of the approaching enemy; and then set the whole of the rest of the population to work cutting sharp-pointed poles, boughs, and thorny bushes. With these a circle was made around the trees upon which the village was built. Fortunately the hostile Malays had halted in the forest, two or three miles away, intending to make their attack by night and, as the news of their coming had arrived at noon, the villagers had, before they ceased work late in the evening, erected a formidable hedge round the village.

Some of the women had been set to work manufacturing a number of torches, similar to those used by them for lighting their dwellings, but much larger. They were formed of the stringy bark of a tree, dipped in the resinous juice obtained from another. Will had one of these fastened to each of the trees nearest to the hedge. They were fixed to the trunks on the outside, so that their flame would throw a light on the whole circle beyond the hedge while, within, all would be shadow and darkness.

It was very late before all preparations were completed. Will then placed a few men as outposts, some hundred yards in the forest, in the direction from which the enemy were likely to approach. They were ordered to give the alarm, the moment they heard a noise; and were then to run in and enter the circle by a small gap, which had been left in the abbatis for the purpose. Many of the men then took their posts, with their bows and arrows, in the trees near the hedge. The others remained on the ground, ready to rush to any point assailed.

For several hours no sound save the calls of the night birds, and the occasional distant howls of beasts of prey, were heard in the forest; and it was not until within an hour of morning—the hour generally selected by Malays for an attack, as men sleep at that time the heaviest—that a loud yell, at one of the outposts, told that the enemy were close at hand.

Two or three minutes later the scouts ran in, and the gap through which they had entered was at once filled up with bushes, which had been piled close at hand for the purpose. Aware that their approach was discovered, the enemy abandoned all further concealment; and advanced with wild yells, intending to strike terror into the defenders of the village. As they advanced the torches were all lighted and, as the assailants came within their circle of light, a shower of arrows from the Malays on the ground, and in the trees above, was poured into them.

Yells and screams told that the volley had been a successful one but, discharging their arrows in turn, the Malays, with demoniac yells, rushed against the village. The advance, however, was arrested suddenly when they arrived at the abbatis. From behind its shelter, so deadly a rain of arrows was poured in that they soon shrank back, and bounded away beyond the circle of light, while taunting shouts rose from its defenders.

For a time they contented themselves by distant shouting; and then, with a wild yell, charged forward again. Several dropped from the fire of arrows, from those in the trees and behind the abbatis but, discharging their arrows in return, the assailants kept on until they again reached the impediment. Here they strove furiously to break through—hacking with their krisses, and endeavoring to pull up the stakes with their hands—but the defenders, in the shade behind, sent their arrows so fast and thick that the assailants again shrank back, and darted away to shelter.

Throughout the night there was no renewal of the attack and, in the morning, not a foe was visible. Two or three scouts went out to reconnoiter; but no sooner did they enter the forest than one of them was shot down, and the rest sent flying back.

"I believe the scoundrels are going to try to starve us out," Will said. "Let us speak to the chief, and ask how much provisions they have got."

After much pantomime, Will succeeded in conveying his meaning to the chief; and the latter at once ordered all the inhabitants to produce their stock of food. This was unexpectedly large, and Will thought that there was sufficient for a fortnight's consumption. He now made signs of drinking, but the reply to this was disheartening in the extreme. A few gourds full of water were brought forward, and two or three of the close-woven baskets in which water is often carried, in this country. There was, in fact, scarce enough to last the defenders for a day. The stream from which the village drew its supply of water was about a couple of hundred yards away; consequently the villagers fetched up their water as they needed it, and no one thought of keeping a store.

Will looked in dismay at the smallness of the supply.

"If they really intend to starve us out, Hans, we are done for. No doubt they reckon on our water falling short. They would know that it was not likely that there would be a supply here."

The natives were not slow to recognize the weak point of their defense One or two of the men, taking water baskets, were about to go to the stream; but Will made signs to the chief that they must not do this. The only hope was that the enemies would draw off; but if they saw that water was already short, they would be encouraged to continue to beleaguer the place. Will was unable to explain his reasons to the chief; but the latter, seeing how great was the advantage that they had already gained, by following the counsel of their white visitors in the matter of the hedge, acquiesced at once in their wishes.

Will then ascended to one of the huts, and carefully reconnoitered the whole ground. There was, he saw, at the end farthest from the stream, a slight dip in the land extending into the forest. Beckoning the chief to join him, he made signs that, at night, the warriors should issue silently from the village at this point, and make noiselessly through the wood. They would then take a wide circuit, till they came upon the stream; and would then, working up it, fall upon the enemy in the rear.

The chief was dubious; but Will made an imperative gesture and the chief, in a humble manner, agreed to do as he was ordered. The day passed slowly and, before nightfall, the supply of water was entirely finished. Once or twice scouts had gone out, to see if the enemy were still round the village; but returned, each time, with the news that they were there.

The last time, just before nightfall, Will directed two or three of them to take water buckets, and to go in the direction of the stream; signing to them, however, to return the moment they saw signs of the enemy. They were soon back and, as Will had expected, the sight of the water buckets showed the enemy that the garrison of the village were badly supplied, in that respect; and taunting shouts arose from the woods, asking them why they did not go down to drink.

Will felt certain that the Malays would now draw the greater part of their number down to the side of the stream; and that there would therefore be the more chance of the garrison making their way out, at the other end of the village. Three hours after it was dark, the chief mustered all his men. They were about five-and-forty, in all. Will signed that each should take with him a water basket or large gourd so that, in case they failed in defeating the enemy, and breaking up the blockade, they might at least be able to bring a supply of water into the village. Will then, with much difficulty, explained to the chief that the old men, boys, and women remaining in the village were, the moment they heard the sound of the attack upon the enemy's rear, to shout and yell their loudest, and to shoot arrows in the direction of the enemy.

A few sticks had already been pulled up at the point of the hedge through which Will intended to make a sally, and the band now passed noiselessly out. The chief himself led the way, the white boys following behind him. Lying upon their stomachs, they crawled noiselessly along down the little depression and, in ten minutes, were well in the wood; without having met with an enemy, although they had several times heard voices among the trees, near them.

They now rose to their feet and, making a wide detour, came down, after a quarter of an hour's walk, upon the stream. Here the gourds and baskets were filled; and then, keeping along by the waterside, they continued their march. Presently they saw a number of fires, round which many Malays were sitting. They crept noiselessly up until within a few yards and then, with a yell, burst upon the enemy. Numbers were cut down at once; and the rest, appalled by this attack on their rear, and supposing that the inhabitants of some other village must have arrived to the assistance of those they were besieging, at once fled in all directions. Those remaining in the village had seconded the attack by wild shouts, so loud and continuous that their besiegers had no reason to suppose that their number had been weakened.

For a few minutes the pursuit was kept up; then the chief recalled his followers, with a shout. The water baskets—many of which had been thrown down in the attack—were refilled, and the party made their way up to the village, where they were received with shouts of triumph.

The panic of the Malays had been, in no slight degree, caused by the appearance of the two boys; who had purposely stripped to the waist, and had shouted at the top of their voices as, waving the krisses which they had borrowed, they fell upon the foe. The idea that white devils were leagued with the enemies against them had excited the superstitious fear of the Malays to the utmost; and when, in the morning, scouts again sallied from the village, they found that the enemy had entirely gone—the fact that they had not even returned to carry off the effects which had been abandoned, in the first panic, showing that they had continued their flight, without stopping, to their distant villages.

The chief, like an able politician, took advantage of the impression which his white visitors had created and, the same day, sent off messengers to the villages which had combined in the attack against them, saying that the white men—his guests—were very angry; and that, unless peace was made, and a solemn promise given that there should be no renewal of the late attempts, they were going to lay a dreadful spell upon the villages. Women and children would be seized by disease, and the right arms of the warriors wither up.

This terrible threat carried consternation into the Malay villages. The women burst into prolonged wailings, and the bravest of the men trembled. The messenger said that the white men had consented to abstain from using their magical powers until the following day; and that the only chance to propitiate them was for deputations from the villages to come in, early the next morning, with promises of peace and offerings for the offended white men.

It was not for some time afterwards that the lads learned enough of the language to understand what had been done; but they guessed, from the exultation of the chief, and the signs which he made that their late enemies would shortly come in, in an attitude of humiliation, that he had in some way succeeded in establishing a scare among them.

On the following morning deputations—consisting of six warriors, and women bearing trays with fruit, birds, and other offerings—arrived at the village. The men were unarmed. At their approach, the chief made signs to the boys to take a seat at the foot of the principal tree; and then, accompanied by his leading warriors, led the deputation—with much ceremony—before them. The women placed their trays at their feet, and the men addressed them in long speeches, and with many signs of submission.

The boys played their part well. As soon as they saw what was required of them they signified, with an air of much dignity, that they accepted the offerings; and then went through the ceremony of shaking hands, solemnly, with each of the warriors. Then they made a speech in which, with much gesticulation, they signified to the visitors that a terrible fate would befall them, should they again venture to meddle with the village.

Much awed and impressed, the Malays withdrew. The boys made a selection, from the baskets of fruit, for their own eating; and then signified, to the chief, that he should divide the rest among the inhabitants of the village. When this was done, the boys ascended to their tree and passed the day there quietly; the villagers indulging in feasting, singing, and rejoicing over their victory.

"The worst of all this is," Will said to Hans, "that the more they reverence us, and the more useful they find us, the more anxious they will be to keep us always with them. However, there is one comfort: we are safe, as long as we choose to remain here; and that is more than we could have hoped for, when we first landed from the wreck. It is curious that the Malays, who have no hesitation in attacking English ships, and murdering their crews, have yet a sort of superstitious dread of us. But I suppose it is something the same way as it was in England, in the days of the persecution of old women as witches: they believed that, if left to themselves, they could cast deadly spells, and yet they had no hesitation in putting them to death. I suppose that it is something of the same feeling, here."

CHAPTER 7: THE FIGHT WITH THE PRAHUS.

Very frequently, in the days that followed, William Gale and his friend Hans talked over the possibility of effecting an escape; but the difficulties appeared almost invincible. The various villages which, so far as the boys could understand, were scattered at some distance apart, had little dealings with each other; and indeed, were frequently engaged in feuds. The particular people with whom they lived had nothing whatever to do with the sea. They used—at least so the boys understood, by their signs—to fish, at one time; but they had been robbed of their boats, and maltreated, by some of the cruising tribes who lived in villages on the coast, or on creeks and rivers.

The possibility of escape seemed small, indeed. To escape they must get on board a ship and, to do this, they must first go out to sea; and this could only be done in a boat of their own, or in one of the piratical prahus. The latter course could not be thought of, for the coast pirates were bloodthirsty in the extreme and, even could they change their residence to one of the seaside villages, and gain the friendship of the inhabitants, they would be no nearer to their end. For as these go out to attack, and not to trade with European ships, there would be no chance of escaping in that way.

Upon the other hand, they might build a boat of their own; but they considered it improbable that the Malays would allow them to depart, for they evidently regarded their presence as a prodigy; and revered them as having miraculously arrived, at the moment when a great danger threatened the village. But, even should they be allowed to build a boat and depart, they knew not whither to go. They knew nothing of navigation, and were ignorant of the geography of the Archipelago; and the chances of their striking upon the one or two spots, where, alone they could land with safety, were so small that it would be madness to undertake the voyage.

For six months they lived quietly in the Malay village. The people instructed them in the use of their blowguns, in which they are wonderfully skilful; being able to bring down a bird, sitting on a lofty bough of a tree, with almost an unerring accuracy. They also taught them to shoot with the bow and arrow, and they found that the natives used the roots of various kinds of plants for food. The time did not pass unpleasantly and, had they known that it would last but a few months, only, they would have enjoyed it much.

At last, after much deliberation, they determined that they would—as a first step towards escape—construct a little boat, under pretense of wanting to fish. Accordingly one day, when out with the chief and two or three of his men in the direction of the sea, they pointed there, and signified that they wished to go there—for they had picked up a good many Malay words. The chief shook his head, but they insisted in so authoritative a manner that he gave way, and followed them.

When they reached the shore, they made signs that they wanted to construct a boat. Again the chief shook his head vehemently; and enforced his meaning by pointing along shore, and going through the action first of rowing, then of fighting—intimating that they would certainly be killed, if they ventured out, by the fierce coast tribes. The boys nodded, to show that they understood what he wished to say but, pointing to the water a few yards from shore, went through the action of fishing; then, burdening themselves with imaginary fish, they pointed to the village, and showed that they would supply it with food.

The Malays talked for some time among themselves. They had so vast a respect for the white men that they did not like to thwart their wishes. The thought, too, of a supply of fish—of which they had been long deprived owing to their feuds with some of the coast villages—also operated strongly in favor of their yielding an assent and, at last, the chief made signs that he agreed and, pointing to the village, intimated that assistance should be given in building a boat.

The next day, accordingly, ten or twelve men came down to the shore with them. A tree was felled, the ends were pointed, and the whole formed roughly into the shape of a canoe. Fires were lighted on the top and, by dint of flame and ax, a hollow was dug out. The operation lasted three days, the men having brought provisions with them, so as to avoid making the journey—two and a half hours long—to and from the village each day. The boat, when finished, was but a rough construction; and would have excited the mockery of any of the coast villagers, as they are expert boat builders. Still, it was amply sufficient for the purpose for which it was intended—namely, for fishing inside the line of reefs.

It was heavy, and paddled slowly; and the lads had a strong suspicion that the Malays had purposely made it more clumsy and unseaworthy than need be, in order that they should have no temptation to attempt a distant journey in it.

There was no difficulty about lines, the Malays being skilled in making string and ropes from the fibers of trees. The hooks were more difficult but, upon searching very carefully along the shore, the lads found some fragments of one of the ship boats; and in these were several copper nails which, hammered and bent, would serve their purpose well. The lines were ready on the day the canoe was finished and, as soon as she was launched, the chief and one of the other Malays, and the boys, took their seats in her.

The natives paddled her out nearly to the edge of the reef. Four lines, baited with pieces of raw birds' flesh, were thrown overboard. A few minutes passed—rather anxiously for the lads, who were most desirous that the fishing should be successful, so as to afford them an excuse for frequently pursuing it. Then there was a bite; and Hans, who held the line, found that it taxed his strength to haul in the fish which tugged and strained upon it. When it was got into the boat, it proved to be some fourteen pounds in weight. By this time two of the other baits had been taken and, in less than an hour, they had caught upwards of thirty fish, most of them of considerable size.

The natives were delighted and, paddling to shore, the burden was distributed among the whole party, with the exception of the chief and the two whites. Before starting, a young tree was cut down and chopped into lengths of a few feet each; and on these rollers the canoe was hauled high up the beach. Then the party set out for the village; where their arrival, with so large a supply of food, occasioned great rejoicing.

After this, the boys went down regularly, every day, to fish. At first three or four of the natives always accompanied them, under pretense of carrying back the fish; but really, as they thought, to keep a watch over them. To lessen their hosts' suspicions, sometimes one or other stayed in the village. As time went on, the suspicion of the Malays abated. The number of the guard was lessened and, finally, as the men disliked so long a tramp, some of the boys were told off to accompany the white men, and assist in bringing back their fish. They were in the habit of starting soon after daybreak, and of not returning till late in the evening; accounting for their long absence by pointing to the sun.

The fishing was always performed immediately they reached the coast. When they had caught as many as they and the boys could carry, these were placed in a large covered basket; which was sunk in the water close to the shore, to keep the fish in good condition until they started. Then they would paddle about within the reef or, during the extreme heat of the day, lie in the boat, shaded by bunches of palm leaves. The Malay boys—who were set on shore after the fishing—were left alone; and amused themselves by bathing, or passed the time asleep under the trees.

After the first day or two, it had struck the boys that it was dangerous to leave the canoe high on the sand; as it would be observed, even at a distance, by a passing prahu. Consequently a deep trench had been dug from the sea, far enough up to allow the canoe, when floating in it, to lie below the level of the beach. Before leaving her she was, each day, roughly covered with seaweed; and might, therefore, escape observation by any craft passing at a short distance from the shore.

In their expeditions along the reef, the boys discovered a passage through it. It was of about double the width of a ship, and of amply sufficient depth to allow a vessel of any size to cross. At all other points, for a distance of a mile or two either way—which was the extent of their excursions—the reef came very near to the surface; its jagged points, for the most part, showing above it.

Several months passed, and still no sail which promised a hope of deliverance had shown over the surface of the sea. Scarce a day passed without their seeing the Malay prahus passing up and down the coast; but these always kept some distance out, and caused no uneasiness to the fishermen. They had, during this time, completed the hollowing out of the boat; until her sides were extremely thin, and she was so light that she could be paddled at a high rate of speed.

They were both now expert with the paddle; and felt that if, in a light wind, a vessel should be seen off the coast, they would be enabled to row out and reach her. It might be, they knew, months or even years before such a ship could be seen. Still, as there were many vessels trading among the islands, at any moment an occurrence might arise.

One afternoon, they had been dozing under their leafy shade when Will, who first awoke, sat up and uttered a cry. Almost abreast of them, and but a quarter of a mile outside the reef, was a large brig. The wind was light and, with every stitch of canvas set, she was making but slow progress through the water. Hans leaped up, echoed the cry and, seizing their paddles, they rowed with all their strength away to the opening through the reef; passed through, and headed for the ship.

They now saw what they had not, at first, observed. At a distance of some three miles astern were five large prahus, with their sails set, and the banks of oars rising and falling rapidly. The brig was chased by the pirates.

The boys rested on their paddles, for a moment.

"They are more than a match for her, I am afraid," Will said. "What do you say, Hans, shall we go on, or not?"

Hans made no reply. He was never quick at coming to a decision.

"We had better go," Will went on. "We can see whether they mean to fight, or not."

The boys were naked to the waist—for the thorns of the forest had long since torn in pieces the shirts which they had on, when they landed from the wreck—and their skins were bronzed to a deep copper color Still, they differed in hue from the natives of the island; and the men on board the brig regarded them with some surprise, as they approached it.

"Throw us a rope!" Will shouted as they neared her.

There was a cry of surprise from the crew, at being addressed in English; but a rope was thrown, and the boys soon sprang on board. They saw, at once, that the ship was an English one.

"Hallo! Where do you spring from?" asked the captain.

"We were shipwrecked here, ten months ago," Will said, "and have been living with the natives."

"At any other time, I should have been glad to see you," the captain said; "but just at present, if you will take my advice, you will get into your canoe and row on shore again.

"As you see," and he pointed to the prahus, "we are chased and, although I mean to fight to the last—for there is no mercy to be expected from these bloodthirsty scoundrels—I fear the chances are small."

Will looked round and saw that the six cannons which the brig carried—for vessels trading in the Eastern Archipelago are always armed—had already been loosened ready for action; and that a group of men were at work mounting a long gun, which had just been raised from the hold. Knowing the number of men that the prahus carried, Will felt that the chance of a successful resistance was slight.

There were about eighteen men on deck—a number larger than the brig would carry in other seas, but necessary in so dangerous a trading ground as this. The prahus, however, would each carry from eighty to one hundred men; and these, attacking at once from opposite sides, would be likely to bear down all opposition.

Suddenly an idea occurred to him.

"Look, sir, there is a passage through the reef, there; with plenty of water and width enough for your ship. I can take her through. There is no other passage, for some distance. If you take her inside, and lay her across the channel, the prahus can only attack on one side; and you can place all your guns and strength there."

The captain at once saw the advantage of this scheme.

"Capital!" he exclaimed. "Take the helm at once, my lad.

"Ease off the sheets, men."

They were now nearly opposite the entrance, and the light wind was blowing towards the shore. The captain ordered all hands to reduce sail, only keeping on enough to give the vessel steerage way. Two boats were lowered, and an anchor and cable passed into each and, as the brig passed through the opening, the rest of the sail was lowered.

The boats rowed to the reef, one on either side. The anchors were firmly fixed into the rock and, one being taken from the head and the other from the stern, the crews set to work at the capstan, and speedily had the vessel safely moored, broadside on, across the entrance to the reef.

The Malay boats were now about a mile astern. They had ceased rowing, when they saw the vessel headed for the land, supposing that the captain was about to run on shore. When, to their astonishment, they saw her pass the reef with safety, they again set to at their work.

The guns were now all brought over to the side facing the entrance, and were loaded to the muzzle with bullets. A number of shots, belonging to the long gun, were placed by the bulwarks; in readiness to hurl down into the prahus, should they get alongside. The sailors—though determined to fight till the last—had, when the boys came on board, been making their preparations with the silence of despair. They were now in high spirits, for they felt that they could beat off any attempt of the enemy to attack them.

When the Malays were abreast of the ship, they ceased rowing and drew close together, and evidently held a consultation.

The brig at once opened fire with her long gun, and the first shot hulled one of the prahus, close to the water's edge.

"That's right, Tom," the captain said, "stick to the same craft. If you can sink her, there is one the less."

Several more shots were fired, with such effect that the Malays were observed jumping overboard in great numbers, and swimming towards the other boats—their own being in a sinking condition. The other four prahus at once turned their heads towards shore, and rowed with full speed towards the ship.

They knew that the entrance, of whose existence they had been previously unaware, was an exceedingly narrow one and, as they neared the shore, could see—by the line of breaking surf—that it could, at most, be wide enough for one to pass at a time, Accordingly one drew ahead and, discharging the cannon which it carried in its bow, rowed at full speed for the entrance; another following so close behind that its bow almost touched the stern.

"Train the guns to bear on the center of the channel," the captain said. "Let the three bow guns take the first boat, the other three the second.

"Do you, Tom, work away at the two behind."

The prahus came along at a great rate, the sweeps churning up the water into foam. The leading boat dashed through the channel, the sweeps grating on the rocks on either side. Her bow was but two yards distant from the side of the ship when the captain gave the word. The three cannon poured their contents into her, sweeping her crowded decks and tearing out her bottom. Great as was her speed, she sank below the water, just as her bow touched the side of the ship.

Ten seconds later the command was again given; and a broadside, as destructive, was poured into the second boat. The damage done was somewhat less, and her bow reached the side of the ship. A dozen Malays sprang on board, as their boat sank under their feet; but the sailors were ready and, with musket, pistol, and cutlass fell upon them, and either cut down or drove them overboard. The sea around was covered with swimmers, but the ship was too high out of the water for them to attempt to board her; and the Malays at once struck out for the shore, the sailors keeping up the musketry fire upon them, until out of range.

The other two boats had not followed. The mate had plumped a shot from the long gun full into the bow of the first and—seeing the destruction which had fallen upon their leaders—both turned their heads and made for sea; the mate continuing his fire until they were out of range, one shot carrying away the greater part of the oars, on one side of the boat previously struck. When at a distance of upwards of a mile they ceased rowing and, for some time, lay close together. The men of the injured boat were observed to be stopping the yawning hole in her bows, a few inches above the water level; the other started off, at full speed, up the coast.

It was now evening, and there was scarcely a breath of wind. The men crowded round the lads, and thanked them warmly for having been the means of saving them from destruction.

"I am afraid you are not out of danger, yet," Will said, as the captain shook him by the hand. "No doubt that boat has gone off with the news and, before morning, you will have half a dozen fresh enemies coming down, inside the reef, to attack you."

"If we had but a breath of wind, we might do," the captain said.

"I fear you will have none before morning; then it generally blows fresh, for two or three hours. I don't know how far it is to the village which is the headquarters of the pirates. As far as I could make out, from the Malays with whom we have been living, it is about six hours' walking; but the boats will row twice as fast as a man would walk through the forest. In that case you may be attacked at two or three o'clock in the morning, and you won't get the breeze till after sunrise."

"Are there any other channels through the reef?" the captain asked.

"I do not know," Will replied. "We have never explored it very far, either way; but as I should think, from the action of the Malays, that they did not know of this, they might not know of any other, did it exist."

"Then," the captain said, "I will warp the brig out through the channel again; and anchor her, stem and stern, across it outside. They will find it as hard to attack us, there, as they did before. Then, when the breeze comes, we will slip our cable and run for it. She is a fast sailer; and can, I think, get away from the pirates, even with their sails and oars. Besides, by shifting the long gun and two of the others to her stern, we can give it them so hot that, even if they are the fastest, we may sicken them."

"I do not know, sir," Will said. "They would be likely to hang about you, until the breeze drops; and then to attack you on all sides at once. If we could but keep them from coming through the channel, in pursuit, we should be safe."

"Ah! But how on earth are we to do that?" the captain asked.

William Gale was silent for a minute or two.

"Have you plenty of powder on board the ship, sir?"

"Plenty—we use it for barter."

"It seems to me—" Will went on, "—that if, before sailing, you could sink a couple of barrels of powder in the channel, with a fuse to explode them, a few minutes after we had left; the Malays would be so astonished, at the explosion, that they would not venture to pass through."

"Your idea is a capital one," the captain said, warmly; "but how about a fuse which would burn under water?

"What do you think, Tom? Could it be managed?"

"I should think so, sir," the mate answered. "Suppose we take one of those empty 30-gallon beer casks, and fill that up with powder—it will hold ten or twelve of the little barrels—and then we might bung it up, and make a hole in its head. Over the hole we might fix a wine bottle, with the bottom knocked out; and so fastened, with tow and oakum, that the water won't get in. Then we might shove down through the mouth of the bottle, and through the hole below it into the powder, a long strip of paper dipped in saltpetre, to make touch paper of it. I don't know as a regular fuse would do, as it might go out for want of air; but there would be plenty to keep touch paper alight.

"We could sling three or four 18-pounder shots under the bottom of the cask, to make it sink upright. Just before we slip our cables, we might lower it down with the boats; lighting the fuse the last thing, and sticking in the cork. If we don't put too much saltpetre, it might burn for some minutes before it reached the powder."

"It's worth trying, at any rate," the captain said; "but I fear it would not burn long enough. I think that, instead of a bottle, we might jam a piece of iron tube—six or eight feet long—into the head of the cask, and cut a bung to fit it. In that way we could get a good length of fuse."

This plan was carried out. A large cask was filled with powder; and an iron tube, three inches in diameter and six feet long, fitted into it, and made water tight. A long strip of paper, after being dipped in water in which gunpowder had been dissolved; was then dried, rolled tight, and lowered down the tube, until it touched the powder. A bung was cut to fit the top of the tube; a piece of wash-leather being placed over it, to ensure its being perfectly water tight. The top of the fuse was then cut level with the pipe. Several bits of iron were lashed to the lower end of the cask, to make it sink upright; and the cask was steadily lowered into a boat lying alongside the ship, in readiness for use.

The sailors entered into the preparations with the glee of schoolboys; but the machine was not ready until long after the ship had been towed out again through the channel, and moored broadside to it, just outside.

CHAPTER 8: THE TORPEDO.

It was about two o'clock in the morning when the watch awoke the crew, with the news that they could hear the distant sound of oars coming along the shore. All took their places, in silence. After a time the rowing ceased, and all was quiet again. Half an hour passed, and then there was a slight sound close alongside and, in the channel, they could dimly make out a small boat—which was rapidly rowed away into the darkness again, several musket shots being fired after it.

"They have sent on ahead, to find if we were lying in the same berth," the captain said. "I expect they will be puzzled when they hear that we are outside, and that the entrance is guarded. I should not be surprised if they did not attack before morning. They had such a lesson, yesterday, that I don't think they will try to force the channel in our teeth again; but will play the waiting game, sure that they will secure us, sooner or later."

So it turned out. The hours passed slowly on, but no sound was heard. Then, in the dim morning light, a pirate fleet of eight prahus was seen, lying at a distance of half a mile within the reef.

As the day broke, the breeze sprang up, the sails were hoisted, and the captain prepared to slip his cables. A similar preparation could, through the glasses, be observed on board the Malay fleet.

"That will do very well," the captain said. "Those fellows will be along in about eight or ten minutes after we have started; and the fuse, according to the experiments we made as to its rate of burning, will last about seven.

"Now, quick, lads, into the boat.

"Tom, you take charge of the sinking."

In another minute the boat was rowed to the channel, and the cask lowered over the side. It was held there, for a minute, while the mate struck a light and applied it to the touch paper. Then he pressed the bung firmly into the top of the tube, the lashings of the cask were cut, and the boat rowed back to the ship. The anchors were already on board, and the brig was getting way on her as the boat rowed alongside. The men jumped on board, and the boat was suffered to tow behind, while all hands set the whole of the sails. The vessel was soon running briskly before the land breeze.

The pirate fleet was instantly in motion. Every eye in the ship was directed towards them.

"They will be there in less than ten minutes from the moment I lowered the cask," the mate said, looking at his watch.

"Not much," the captain said, "they are rowing fast, now; but the trees keep off the wind, and their sails do not help them. They were a minute or two behind us in starting."

It was just eight minutes, from the time when the cask had been lowered, that the first of the Malay boats rowed out through the channel.

"I hope nothing has gone wrong," the mate growled.

"I am not afraid of that; though we may be wrong, a minute or two, as to the length of the fuse."

Another boat followed the first. The third was in mid channel when, suddenly, she seemed to rise bodily in the air, and then to fall into pieces. A mighty column of water, a hundred feet high, rose into the air; mingled with fragments of wood, and human bodies. A deep, low report was heard; and the brig shook, as if she had come into collision with some floating body.

Although they were nearly a mile away, the yell of astonishment, and fright, of the Malays reached the ship. The prahus still inside the reef were seen to turn round, and row away along the coast at the top of their speed; while those which had passed the channel, after rowing wildly for some distance, lay on their oars—the crews apparently stupefied at what had taken place. The craft which had been injured the day before still lay seaward, on watch; but now turned her head, and rowed towards the shore to join her consorts.

The Sea Belle left the coast. The Malays attempted no pursuit but, so long as they could be seen, remained inactive near the scene of the sudden and—to them—inexplicable catastrophe which had befallen their consort.

Once fairly freed from all fear of pursuit, the captain invited the two lads into his cabin; and there heard from them an account of all the adventures through which they had passed. When they had finished, he questioned them as to their plans.

Hans said that he intended to take the first ship bound for Holland.

"And you?" he asked Will.

"I have no particular plan," Will said. "I am in no hurry to return to England, having no relatives there. After being so long absent—for it is now a year since I sailed from Yarmouth—I should not care to return and take up my apprenticeship as a fisherman."

"Will you ship regularly on board the Sea Belle?" the captain asked.

"Thank you, sir, I think I would rather not decide upon anything until we get to Calcutta. I have thirty pounds in money—fifteen pounds of which were given me on board the Dutch ship, and the rest I received as wages for the voyage from England to Java. I carried the money in a belt round my waist, and have kept it ever since. So I need not be in any great hurry to settle upon what I shall do; but certainly, after a regular sea life, I should not like to go back to being a fisherman. I am now past sixteen and, in another three years, shall be able to earn more wages.

"I should have taken you for at least two years older," the captain said; "you are as big and strong as many lads of eighteen."

"I have done a good lot of hard work, in the last two years," Will said; "for on board the Dutch ship—although, of course, I was only rated as a boy—I used to do man's work, aloft."

Other people would have been deceived, as well as the captain. Hard work and exposure to the air had done much to age the boy. He had been tall and slight for his age when he left the workhouse and, while he had not ceased growing in height, he had widened out considerably and, had he asserted himself to be eighteen years of age, few would have questioned the statement.

The Sea Belle for some time kept south, touching at some of the islands where a trade was done with the Papuans; then her head was turned north and, after an eventful voyage, she reached Calcutta, where the captain had been ordered to fill up with cotton, or grain, for England. The captain at once landed, and proceeded to the office of the agent of the firm who owned the Sea Belle. He was shown into that gentleman's private room where, at the time, two gentlemen were seated, chatting. The agent was personally acquainted with the captain, and asked him to sit down and smoke a cigar.

"This is Captain Mayhew, of the Sea Belle," he said to his friends. "He has been trading, for the last three months, down among the islands.

"These gentlemen, Captain Mayhew, are Major Harrison and Captain Edwards, who have just arrived from China, with their regiment, in the Euphrates.

"Has your voyage been a pleasant one, captain?"

"Pleasant enough, sir, on the whole; but we were attacked by the Malay pirates, and I should certainly not be here to tell the tale, at present, had it not been for the quickness and shrewdness of a lad, who had been shipwrecked on the coast."

"How is that, Mayhew? Tell us all about it."

Captain Mayhew related the whole story of the fight with the pirates; saying that, unquestionably, had it not been for Will's pointing out the passage through the reef, in the first place, and his idea of burying a submarine mine, in the second, the Sea Belle would have fallen into the hands of the pirates.

"But where did the boy spring from? How on earth came he to be there?"

Captain Mayhew then related the story of William Gale's adventures, as he had them from his own lips.

"He must be a cool and plucky young fellow, indeed," Major Harrison exclaimed. "I should like to see him.

"What style and type is he, captain? A rough sort of chap?"

"By no means," the captain answered. "He is surprisingly well mannered. Had I met him elsewhere, and in gentleman's clothes, I do not think that I should have suspected that he was not what he appeared. His features, too, somehow or other, strike one as being those of a gentleman; which is all the more singular when, as a fact, he told me he had been brought up in a workhouse.

"In a workhouse!" Major Harrison repeated. "Then I suppose his parents were farm laborers."

"No," the captain answered; "he was left at the door, on a stormy night, by a tramp who was found drowned, next morning, in a ditch near. He had, when found, a gold trinket of some kind round his neck; and he tells me that, from that and other circumstances, it was generally supposed by the workhouse authorities that he did not belong to the tramp, but that he had been stolen by her; and that he belonged, at least, to a respectable family."

"All this is very interesting," Captain Edwards said. "I should like much to see the boy. Will you come and dine with us this evening on board the Euphrates—Mr. Reynolds, here, is coming—and have the boy sent on board—say, at nine o'clock—when we can have him in, and have a chat with him?"

Captain Mayhew readily agreed. William was even then waiting outside for him, having landed with him; and the captain, when he entered the office, had told him to walk about for an hour and amuse himself with the sights of Calcutta, and then return and wait for him. He said nothing about his being close at hand, as he did not wish the officers to see him in the rough outfit which had been furnished him on board ship; intending to surprise them by his appearance in decent clothes. Accordingly, on leaving Mr. Reynolds' office he took him to one of the numerous shops, in the town, where clothes of any kind can be procured.

"Now, Will," he said, "I want you to get a suit of shore-going clothes. You can get your sea outfit tomorrow, at your leisure; but I want you to show up well at the mess, this evening, and a suit of good clothes will always be useful to you."

Captain Mayhew had intended to pay for the outfit, himself, but this Will would not hear of; and Captain Mayhew was the less reluctant to let the lad have his own way as he had, in the course of the interview with the agent, agreed that the lad's services deserved a handsome recognition from the firm; and that the sum of one hundred guineas should be given to him, at once. The agent felt, no doubt, that the firm would thoroughly approve of the payment. Twenty pounds were to be given to Hans, for his share of the services; but the two suggestions which had saved the Sea Belle had both originated with Will.

By Captain Mayhew's advice, Will purchased a suit of dark-colored tweed, a black tie, and some white shirts and collars. At other shops, he bought some boots and a Panama straw hat. Having completed their purchases, they walked for some hours about Calcutta; Will being delighted with the variety of the native costumes, and the newness and singularity of everything which met his eye.

On their return to the ghaut—as the landing stage is called—they found their various purchases already stowed in the Sea Belle's boat; which had, about an hour before, come to shore to fetch them off. At seven o'clock Captain Mayhew went off to the Euphrates, leaving orders that the boat was to bring Will over, at nine. At that hour the lad was dressed in his new clothes which, fortunately, fitted him well.

"By jingo, Will," the first mate said, as he entered the cabin, "you look a tip-topper, and no mistake."

The mate was right. The lad, with his sunburnt face, quiet manner, and easy carriage, looked thoroughly at home in his attire.

"I don't know who your parents were, but I would bet a month's pay that the old tramp you were telling us of had nothing to do with it; for you look every inch a gentleman, from head to foot."

Will found, on gaining the deck of the Euphrates, that orders had been left by the officer in command that he was to be shown into the saloon cabin upon his giving his name to the sergeant, who came up at the sentry's call. He was at once conducted below. For a moment he felt almost bewildered as he entered; the size of the cabin, the handsomeness of its fittings, the well-laid table decked with fragrant flowers, so far surpassed anything he had ever seen, or thought of.

He was conducted to the head of the table, where Major Harrison, with Mr. Reynolds on one hand and Captain Mayhew on the other, sat near the colonel commanding the regiment. Captain Mayhew, who had already told the outline of the story, smiled quietly to himself at the expression of surprise which crossed the faces of the major and Mr. Reynolds, as well as of the other officers sitting near, at the appearance of the lad he introduced to them. The colonel ordered a chair to be placed next to himself, and told the servant to fill a glass of wine for Will, and entered into conversation with him.

"I think, gentlemen," he said, after a minute or two, seeing that the lad did not touch the wine that was poured out for him, "it will be pleasanter on deck; for it is terribly hot here, and I see that most of you have finished your wine."

An adjournment was at once made, to the deck. Here cigars were lighted and, the colonel and senior officers taking their places in some of the easy chairs—which were still all out—the rest gathered round to hear the story, which Major Harrison had promised them would be an interesting one.

Captain Mayhew first gave his account of the fight between the Sea Belle and the pirates, beginning at the point when, as he was hotly chased and despairing of making a successful defense, the canoe with the two lads in it came out to him. Then Will was called upon to explain how he came to be there, at that moment. He told briefly how the fishing smack was sunk, how he had saved himself by clinging to the bob stay of the Dutch Indianan, and how he had sailed in this vessel to Java; and was on his way in her to China, when wrecked in the cyclone.

Here his audience insisted upon his giving them full details; and he accordingly told them the manner in which he and a few of the crew had escaped; how, when they were building a boat, they had been attacked by Malays, and all—except another lad and himself, who were hiding in a tree—were massacred by the pirates; how they had gone inland to a village where, having aided the natives when attacked by a hostile tribe, they had been most kindly received; how they had finally obtained a canoe, and spent their time in fishing, in hopes of seeing a passing sail; until the Sea Belle, chased by the Malay pirates, had appeared off the shore.

There was a genuine murmur of approval, from those thickly clustered round, as the lad finished his story; and the colonel warmly expressed his approval of his conduct, under such exciting circumstances.

"What are you going to do, now?" he asked.

"I have not made up my mind, sir," the lad said. "I expect that I shall ship in some vessel sailing for England, shortly."

"Major Harrison," the colonel said, "will you and Captain Mayhew come with me to my cabin?

"I should like to have a few minutes' private chat with you," he went on, putting his hand on Will's shoulder.

A minute or two later, the three gentlemen and Will were seated in the private cabin.

"Look here, my boy," the colonel said; "I have heard, from Major Harrison, what you had told Captain Mayhew concerning your birth and, certainly, your appearance and manner go far to sustain the belief that the tramp who left you was not your mother, and that your parents were of gentle birth. I do not say that a man's birth makes much difference to him; still, it does go for something and, in nine cases out of ten, the difference both in face and figure is unmistakable. Unless I am very wrong, your father was a gentleman.

"However, that is not to the point: it is your quickness and activity, your coolness in danger, and the adventures which you have gone through which interest us in you. Now I think it is a pity that a lad, who has shown that there is so much in him, should remain a sailor before the mast. You have not been so long at sea as to become wedded to it, and to be unable to turn your hands to anything else.

"Now, what do you say to enlisting? In the ranks are men of all sorts—gentlemen, honest men, and blackguards. The steady, respectable man is sure to rise. You can, the captain tells me, read and write well. There is a chance of active service, at present; and when there is active service, a man who distinguishes himself gets rapid promotion. The regiment land, tomorrow; and go straight through, by train, to the North. There is trouble in Afghanistan; and an ultimatum has just been sent, to the Ameer, that if he does not comply with our terms it will be war; and we hope to be there in time for the beginning of it. I can only say that, if you like to join, Major Harrison and myself will keep our eyes upon you and, if you deserve it, you may be sure of rapid promotion. You have greatly interested me in your story, and I should be very glad to give a helping hand to so deserving a young fellow.

"It is not usual, certainly, for a regiment to take recruits in India; but I don't suppose that there can be any objection to it."

"Thank you very much," Will said, when the colonel ceased. "I am greatly obliged to you for your kindness. I have never thought about the army, but I am sure that I cannot possibly do better than accept your kind offer.

"The only thing, sir, is about my age.

"Tut, tut!" the colonel interrupted, "I don't want to know anything about your age. When you go up for attestment, you will say that you are under nineteen, which will be strictly true. I will give a hint, and no further questions will be asked. Neither I nor anyone else know that you are not past eighteen and, in time of war, no one is particular as to the age of recruits, as long as they are fit to do their duty.

"You must work hard, to pick up enough knowledge of drill to enable you to take your place in the ranks. There is neither parade work, nor difficult maneuvering, in the face of an enemy; and you can finish up, afterwards.

"Are you quite agreed?"

"Quite, sir," Will said, joyously, "and am, indeed, obliged to you."

"Come on board, then, tomorrow at eight o'clock, and ask for Sergeant Ringwood."

William Gale left the cabin with a new prospect of life before him. He had, of late, rather shrunk from the thought of again taking his place as a ship boy; and the prospect of adventures—to say nothing of the advancement which might befall him, through the interest taken in him by the colonel—was delightful to him.

The last words the colonel had said when he left the cabin were:

"Say nothing about the workhouse, and as little as possible of anything which happened before you were wrecked on the island, in the barrack room."

When William and Captain Mayhew had left the cabin, Colonel Shepherd sent for Sergeant Ringwood.

"Sergeant," he said, "a young fellow will come on board, tomorrow at eight o'clock, to join the regiment as a recruit. Take him at once to the surgeon, and get him passed. I know we shall be able to give him but little drill, before we get to the frontier; but do all you can for him, and I will make it up to you. He is a smart young fellow, and I have a good deal of interest in him.

"He was on his way to China, and was wrecked among the Malays, and has gone through a good deal. Finding himself here with nothing to do, and with a prospect of active service on the frontier, he has decided to enlist and, as he is a gallant young fellow, I do not wish to balk his fancy."

The sergeant saluted and took his leave, impressed with the idea—although the colonel had not said so—that the new recruit was a young gentleman, who had joined the service simply for the sake of taking part in the war.

The next morning Will took leave of his friend Hans; who had, the previous day, shipped on board a Dutch ship, homeward bound; and who was, a few hours later, to shift his berth to her, after he had been on shore to fit himself out in clothes. Hans was much affected at saying goodbye to his companion, and the two promised to correspond with each other.

On bidding farewell to his friend the captain of the Sea Belle, the latter informed Will that Mr. Reynolds had, on behalf of the owners of the Sea Belle, paid 100 pounds to his account into the Bank of Hindustan; and that this, or any portion of it, would be paid to his order; as the captain had furnished the agent with a slip of paper upon which Will had, at his request, signed his name. This had, with the money, been deposited at the bank; so that his signature might be recognized, and honored.

On reaching the Euphrates, Will was at once taken charge of by Sergeant Ringwood; who took him before the doctor, to whom the colonel had already spoken. The medical examination was satisfactory, the doctor remarking:

"You are rather slight yet, but you will fill out, in time."

The age was asked, and given as under nineteen; and eighteen was inscribed against him, in the books. Then he was taken before the colonel, and attested; and was, from that moment, a member of the regiment. A uniform was served out to him, and the usual articles of kit. The sergeant saw that his belts were put on properly, and his knapsack packed; and half an hour afterwards he fell in, with his musket on his shoulder, among the troops paraded on the deck of the Euphrates, prior to embarkation.

So quickly had it all been managed that Will could hardly believe that he was awake as, feeling strangely hampered by his belts and accouterments, he descended the accommodation ladder, and took his place with his new comrades on board one of the great native boats, and rowed to the shore. The regiment was marched direct to the railway station, where the heavy baggage had been sent, on the previous day. The men took their places in the long train which stood in readiness and, half an hour later, steamed north from Calcutta.

Hitherto, none of his comrades had spoken to Will. In the bustle of landing, all had enough to do to look to themselves; and it was not until he found himself, with eight comrades and a corporal, in the railway carriage that he was addressed.

"Well, young 'un," one said, "what's yer name, and where do you come from? Calcutta isn't much of a place for recruiting."

"I was on my way to China," Will replied, "and got wrecked among the Malays; then I got picked up by a vessel, and we had some hot fighting. Then I was landed at Calcutta and, seeing nothing much to do, and hearing that there was a chance of a fight with the Afghans, I thought the best thing to do was to enlist.

"My name is William Gale."

"I wasn't quite sure that you were an Englishman. You are pretty nigh as dark as them copper-colored niggers here."

"So would you be," Will laughed, "if you had been living, as I have, for ten months among savages, without even a shirt to your back."

"Tell us all about it," the soldier said.

"This is a bit of luck, mates, our having someone who can tell us a tale, when we have got such a long journey before us."

Will made his story as full as he could, and it lasted a long time. When it was finished, the men expressed their opinion that he was a good sort and, Will having handed over to the corporal a sovereign—to be expended on drinks by the way, as his footing in the regiment—he became quite a popular character, and soon felt at home in his new position.

CHAPTER 9: THE ADVANCE INTO AFGHANISTAN.

There was but little talking in the middle of the day, in the train, for the heat was excessive. All the men had taken off their coats, and sat in their shirt sleeves. But they were, nevertheless, bathed in perspiration.

Late at night, the train arrived at Allahabad. Here there was a stop, till morning. The men alighted from the train; and lay down on their folded blankets, with their knapsacks for pillows, on the platform or in the waiting rooms. A plentiful supply of water had been prepared for their use, at the station; and outside were several water carriers; and many of the men stripped off their shirts, and had water poured over their heads and bodies. Will Gale was among these and, greatly refreshed, he enjoyed some fruit and cakes which he purchased from native vendors; and then, lying down on a bench in the station, was soon asleep.

Four days' traveling brought them to the end of the railway. They were ferried across the Attock, and then their real work began. Although it was now late in September, the heat was still intense. Tents were struck an hour before daybreak and, by eleven o'clock each day, the column was at its halting place. It was, however, hours before the tents and baggage arrived.

Many of the draft cattle were very poor, forage was scarce, and the arrangements far from good. The consequence was that great numbers of the oxen broke down and died, and many of the troops were often obliged to sleep in the air, owing to the non-arrival of their tents. The defects of the transport were aggravated, as the time went on; and the Norfolk Rangers fared much better than some of the troops which followed them.

The regiment was destined to operate in the Khuram valley, under the command of General Roberts. The advanced column of this division consisted of the 7th company of Bengal Sappers, the 23rd Bengal Pioneers; a battery of horse artillery, one of Royal Artillery, and two mountain batteries; a squadron of the 10th Hussars, and the 12th Bengal Cavalry. The first brigade of infantry comprised the 2nd battalion of the 8th Foot, the 29th Bengal Native Infantry, and the 5th Punjaub Infantry. The second brigade consisted of the 72nd Highlanders, the 21st Native Infantry, the 2nd Punjaub Infantry, and the 5th Ghoorkas. The place of assembly was Kohat. The Norfolk Rangers were to act as a reserve.

It was on the 2nd of October that the Rangers arrived at Kohat, heartily glad that their march across the sandy plains of the Punjaub was at an end. The other regiments comprising the force poured in rapidly and, on the 9th, the general arrived and assumed the command. The next day the Punjaub regiments were sent forward to Thull. It was not until the middle of November that the European regiments followed them; and the six weeks were, by the Rangers, for the most part employed in drill for, after their voyage and journey up the country, their commanding officer considered it necessary to work them hard, to get them to the highest state of discipline.

William Gale was worked exceptionally hard; as he had, in that short time, to learn the manual and platoon exercises, and to pick up enough of drill to enable him to take his place in the ranks. Fortunately he carried himself well, and required far less drilling than the majority of the recruits. By the time that the regiment moved forward, he was able to take his place in his company; and had mastered all the movements which were likely to be necessary, in the campaign.

The road between Kohat and Thull runs in a valley between mountains, those on the right being inhabited by the Waziries, a fierce and independent tribe. The regiment which had first marched had exercised every precaution against an attack. The convoys of stores and provisions sent forward had always been accompanied by strong escorts, and orders were issued that officers going forward on duty should not travel without protection. The Waziries, however—contrary to expectation—remained quiet; probably waiting to see the turn which matters took for, had we suffered a repulse, they would assuredly have taken part, at once, against us; and would have aided in massacring fugitives, and robbing baggage wagons.

The march to Thull occupied five days, which were very pleasant ones to William Gale. His heavy work at drill was now over. He was no longer considered a recruit, but ranked as a soldier. The marches were not long and, for many hours in the afternoon, the high hills threw the valley in shade; and the soldiers, after pitching their tents, were able to stroll about, or to lie under the trees in which the valley abounded. The regiment reached Thull on the 18th of November and, on the morning of the 21st, the column advanced.

The river, whose bed was 500 yards wide, was fortunately now low, being reduced to a stream of 40 yards wide by 3 deep. A trestle bridge had been thrown across it, for the use of the infantry. The river was distant a mile and a half from the town. No opposition was expected but, as a small Afghan garrison was stationed in a fort at Kapizang, a short distance beyond the river, an attempt was to be made to capture it.

The 29th Punjaub Infantry first crossed the river, at the bridge. The 10th Hussars forded the river and extended, in skirmishing order, to cut off the retreat of the garrison. When they reached the fort, however—which was a square enclosure, with round towers at the corners—it was found that the garrison, who had doubtless received warning from spies in Thull, had abandoned the place in the night.

The cavalry were now sent forward to reconnoiter, the infantry following; and the advanced force halted at Ahmed-I-shama for the night. Not a single habitation was passed, during the nine miles march. The road was generally a mere track, 6 feet wide; passing through tangled brakes of dwarf palms, intersected by stony gullies, except when it ran along the steep bank of the river.

The following day the rest of the first brigade marched up to Ahmed-I-shama; while the advanced force, under Colonel Gordon, moved on to Hazir-pir. The Rangers were with the first brigade, but not with the advanced party. This was composed wholly of native troops, consisting of the Pioneer regiments and the Sappers and Miners. These had hard work, for the road—which was fifteen miles in length—was scarcely passable for wheeled carriages, and the guns could not be taken along until the boulders and blocks of stone, which strewed the way, were removed or blasted into pieces.

On the 23rd the Rangers, with the Horse Artillery battery and two native regiments, marched towards Hazir-pir; but the difficulties of the road were so great that they had to camp, for the night, four miles short of that place. General Roberts and the headquarters went forward the same day.

As the general passed along the road, the headmen of all the villages near came and paid their respects; and the villagers lined the roads as the troops passed, offering fowls, eggs, milk, and dried fruit for sale. As William Gale had brought a supply of money with him, he was able to indulge in all those luxuries and, indeed, as the men had had few opportunities of spending money at Thull, all were well supplied with cash.

The halt at Hazir-pir was, then, a very pleasant one. Supplies of grass, fuel, and provisions were brought in, in considerable quantities, there; but much difficulty arose in settling the terms of purchase, as coin was almost unknown in the valley and, therefore, there was no established price—one native being ready to sell, for a few coppers, articles for which another demanded as many pieces of silver. On the hills around a considerable number of sheep were seen grazing; but the natives did not care about selling these which, indeed, belonged for the most part, not to the Turis—the tribe which inhabit the valley—but to nomad Ghilzais who, like the Swiss shepherds, move about with their charges among the mountains, wherever fodder is to be obtained.

Khuram valley, itself, is bare and monotonous. With the exception of fruit trees planted round the villages, scarce a tree is to be found; but each village is marked by a huge chunar—or oriental plane—beneath which the villagers rest during the noonday heat.

But if the valley itself was bare and desolate, the scenery around was lovely. The great range of mountains known as the Safaid-Koh bound the valley on the east and north. This range averages 14,000 feet high, from which spurs run out at right angles, enclosing narrower valleys, with broiling torrents rushing through boulders. The slopes of these valleys are covered with luxuriant vegetation, till the limit of trees is reached at a height of about 11,000 feet; above which, in winter, the snow lies thick while, in summer, it furnishes the finest pasture to the Ghilzai flocks and herds. The valley lands and the lower slopes of the hills are laid out in terraces, and irrigated rice fields extend near the rivers. Valley and hill are alike covered with stones and boulders, Afghanistan being probably the most stony country in the world.

On the 24th the headquarters, with the cavalry and two regiments, moved forward ten miles and encamped at the south end of the Darwazi Pass—the road leading to open, broad valleys, covered with dwarf palms, and wholly uncultivated. On the 25th the advanced force crossed the pass, which was a gentle slope and offered no great difficulty and, at night, encamped at the Khuram fort, which had been evacuated by the enemy. The buildings—which would have been useful for the troops—had, however, been wrecked by the Turis; who have a deadly hate for the Afghans—their masters—and who were also animated in their work of destruction by a desire to obtain wood, which is exceedingly scarce there.

At Khuram there are two forts, the one 120 yards and the other 100 yards square. Inside these were quarters for the governor, and huts for the garrison and officers; and in the smaller forts were stables for the cavalry forces. This place was made the headquarters of the forces in the Khuram valley.

The general now rode on, with two squadrons of the 12th Bengal Cavalry, to reconnoiter in the direction of the Peiwar-Khotal; towards which the enemy were supposed to be retreating, and where they were expected to make a stand. As they approached the village of Peiwar, two villages were seen in flames; and news was brought in that three Afghan regiments, with twelve guns, had lately passed through. The natives reported that they were encumbered by their guns, and that forced labor was procured for the purpose of removing them. Later on, a rumor came that the twelve guns were stuck in the ravine at the foot of the Khotal, or pass.

With but a small force of cavalry at his command, the general could do nothing; and so returned to Khuram, and determined to hurry up the troops faster than he had intended, so as to capture the guns reported—as was afterwards proved, falsely—to have been left behind by the Afghans. The sick and all superfluous baggage were left behind at Khuram and, on the 28th, the troops moved at daybreak; the two brigades marching in parallel columns.

The cold was now severe at night, although it was hot in the daytime. It had been intended to halt at Halid-Kitta, four miles from the Khotal; but the intelligence arriving—that the Ameer's troops had abandoned their guns, and were in disorderly retreat—decided the general to push forward at once to the Peiwar-Khotal—seven miles further—instead of waiting, and giving the enemy time to strengthen their position. A mile from the foot of the actual ascent of the Khotal lies the village of Turrai, two miles and a half beyond Peiwar. Turrai is situated in a valley, the ground at whose entrance is very much broken up by the shoulders and spurs of the hill.

The left column—the 5th and 29th Punjaub in advance, with the 2nd battalion of the 8th and the 23rd Pioneers, the Rangers, and two guns of the Number 1 mountain battery in support—were sent to the left, with instructions to turn a ridge forming the south boundary of the valley, and to seize the village of Turrai. They were also to follow up, closely, any body of retreating Afghan troops that they might come across. The light brigade were to march up the regular road to the Peiwar, thus supporting the attack of the left brigade.

The left brigade followed out its orders, except that the regiment in support did not go round the southern side of the spur, but kept to the north. No enemy was seen on the south side of the spur so, when a track leading across to Turrai was reached, the troops moved down towards the village; the regiments in support advancing at the foot of the open, on the north side. The mountain path that the advanced troops were now filing down did not lead directly to the village, but fell into the valley ahead of it, at a point where it widens out into what was known as the "punch bowl valley," at the foot of the Peiwar-Khotal.

As soon as the head of the column reached this spot, they came in sight of the Afghans; who showed themselves in great numbers on the crest of the mountain, far above their heads. As the troops had no orders to attack so formidable a position, they fell back towards Turrai, which was about a quarter of a mile to the rear. At the sight of this movement, the Afghans swarmed down a spur of the hill, and commenced an attack on the regiments that were moving towards the village. The 29th Punjaubees climbed the hill and a sharp skirmish ensued, the two mounted guns coming into action.

While this was going on, the main body of the troops arrived at Turrai. The advanced troops were recalled, and the 5th Ghoorkas were advanced to cover the movement. As it was now seen that the story of the abandonment of the guns was false, orders were given to pile arms in the village, and to encamp there.

This step was an imprudent one, as the Afghans speedily showed. While our men were sitting or lying upon the ground, waiting for the baggage to arrive, the Afghans brought up a mountain gun from the main ridge—about three-quarters of a mile distant—to the point of the spur overlooking the village of Turrai, and opened fire at 1700 yards range.

The astonishment of the troops, when the first shell fell among them, was great. Every one jumped to his feet, and seized his rifle; and the guns of the Royal Horse Artillery were brought at once into action. It was four o'clock in the afternoon when the Afghans opened fire. Had they waited for a few hours, brought up another gun or two, and made a night attack immediately after opening fire, it is morally certain that the imprudence of camping in such a position would have been punished by a disaster, which might have vied with that of Isandula. Huddled together in a small village surrounded by scrub; and impeded, as the troops would have been, by the baggage animals and native followers, rushing in terror in all directions, our men would have been taken at an immense disadvantage.

Fortunate was it that the enemy opened fire before the darkness set in. The troops were at once ordered to fall back a mile and a half, and to pitch on fresh ground. There was much confusion in the retreat, as the road in the rear was crowded with the baggage animals. The spot chosen for the camp was a rough one; for the ground was covered with scrub, and a scattered growth of hill oak and thorny bushes, and was broken by the remains of some ancient terraces but, as the jungle and broken ground extended for three and a half miles, there was nothing for it but to take up the best position possible, under the circumstances. The troops bivouacked on the ridge of a ravine, with steep banks; which formed a line of defense in front of the camp, while the view in every other direction was obscured by trees.

The regiments passed a wretched night on the rough ground. Most of them were unable to find their baggage, which was wandering in the scrub in the dark; and the greater part of the troops lay down on the bare ground, and went supperless to sleep, after their fatiguing march of twenty-one miles.

In the morning, both men and cattle were greatly exhausted by their long marches and almost sleepless nights; and General Roberts determined to wait, for a day or two, to reconnoiter the formidable position of the enemy before undertaking its attack. The camp was shifted to a more secure site, the brushwood and trees were cleared away, the tents pitched, and the troops were again comfortable.

A reconnaissance was made by Colonel Perkins—commanding the Royal Engineers—with two companies of the Pioneers. He ascertained that a deep ravine lay between the ridge on which they were encamped and the Khotal itself, and that it was impossible to direct an attack on that side.

Major Collett also, with two companies of the 23rd, proceeded to reconnoiter the route known as the Spingawi—or Cow—Pass. This, instead of going straight up the hill in front, wound round its foot to the right of the valley. Ascending the mountain at a point some three or four miles to the east of the Peiwar-Khotal, the reconnaissance reached the summit of a ridge about five miles distant from the camp, and overlooking the Spingawi-Khotal. It was ascertained that the road up the pass seemed easy and practicable, for all arms; that the top of the pass appeared to be on the same ridge as the Peiwar-Khotal; and that a force, working from it towards the Peiwar, would pass over a series of dominating positions. It did not appear to Major Collett that the enemy held the Peiwar-Khotal in force; although there was a gun on a commanding knoll on the south, and there seemed to be one at the top of the pass. The road from the village of Peiwar to the top of the Spingawi Pass seemed perfectly easy, for troops of all arms.

The next two days were spent in clearing the camp and, so far as possible, improving its military position; but it was still surrounded by thick oak jungle, which would have afforded cover for an enemy making a sudden attack.

A further reconnaissance was made of the Spingawi Pass and, as the examination confirmed Major Collett's report, it was determined to attack by it. Orders were issued, on the 1st of December, for a march that night. The regiments which were to form the main attack, by the Spingawi plateau route, were the 29th Punjaub Infantry and the 5th Ghoorkas—commanded by Colonel Gordon—in advance; these were to be followed by the mountain battery, a wing of the 72nd Highlanders, a company of the Rangers, the 2nd Punjaubees, and the 23rd Pioneers, under Brigadier General Thelwall. Four guns, on elephants, were to proceed with the column. The 5th Punjaub Infantry, the 8th Regiment, two guns Royal Horse Artillery, three guns Royal Artillery, and the 5th Bengal Cavalry—the whole under the command of Brigadier General Cobbe—were to make an attack on the Peiwar-Khotal direct.

The rest of the force was to remain to guard the camp and—in order to convince the enemy that a front attack upon the Peiwar-Khotal was intended—a party of pioneers, with an engineer officer and a covering party of the 8th Regiment, were to construct a battery near the village of Turrai. Frequent reconnoitering parties had also been sent out in this direction and, so well was the secret of the general's intention to attack by the Spingawi Khotal kept, that everyone in camp who had not been let into the secret was confident that the Peiwar-Khotal would be stormed, on the morrow.

The enemy—although those in camp were ignorant of the fact—were reinforced, on the 1st, by four regiments of infantry, with a mountain battery and, on their side, were meditating an attack upon the British camp. The regiments which had freshly arrived were, however, fatigued by their long march; and the assault on our camp was postponed until the next day, and the chance of its coming off was, therefore, lost for ever.

To William Gale's great satisfaction, a company of the Rangers—that to which he had been posted—was the one selected by the colonel to accompany the column marching up the pass. He did not, indeed, know that this was the route by which they were to advance; but he was pleased at not being left behind, with the regiment, in charge of the camp.

"Well, young 'un," a corporal said to him, that evening, "we are going to be under fire, at last; and a nice climb we shall have of it. It puts one out of breath, to look at that steep road running up the hill and, when it comes to fighting one's way up it, with cannon and Afghans on the top, we shall find it hard work."

"I expect," William answered, "that we sha'n't go up it at any extraordinary pace. If we skirmish up—as I expect we shall—from rock to rock, we shall have plenty of time to get our wind, at each halt. We are not to take our knapsacks; so we shall fight light, and we have not much extra weight to carry. What with the heat, and what with the long marches, I should think I must have lost a stone in weight, since we landed in Calcutta."

"I don't think you have lost weight at all," the corporal said; "it seems to me that you have grown and widened out, in the two months and, only yesterday, when I was sizing the company, I had to move you two men higher; for a young 'un, you stand the fatigues well."

"I am all right," Will said, "except that I have got some frightful blisters on my feet. I was not going to say anything about it, because I should have been kept in hospital, and left behind at Khuram; but I have hardly known how to march, the last few days. I don't think I could possibly have managed it, if I had not adopted the native dodge of wearing putties—which I have greased well on the inside, and wear instead of stockings."

Putties, it may be said, are slips of woolen cloth, about two and a half yards long and three inches wide, with a tape sewn into one end. They are wound round and round the leg, from the ankle to below the knee, and secured by the end being tied with the tape. Nearly every one, officers and men, wore them through the campaign. For a long march there could be no doubt that these bandages—wound round the foot instead of stockings—are very preferable, as they obviate the liability to foot sores. Even with well-made boots all pedestrians may, at times, suffer from sore feet; but the liability is immensely increased when—as in the case of the British soldier—the boots are coarse, roughly sewn, and frequently ill fitted.

CHAPTER 10: THE PEIWAR-KHOTAL.

At ten o'clock at night, on the 1st of December, the troops detailed for the attack mustered in the camp. The assembly took place without sound of bugle, and even the necessary words of command were given in a low tone. Through the still night air the Afghans on the hills, little more than two miles away, would have heard the stir. It was a very dark night, although the stars shone clear.

"Where can we be going?" William Gale asked the soldier next to him. "We are going right away from the pass, instead of towards it."

"So we are!" the soldier replied. "I am blest if I know what we are up to, and it's so precious dark that I can scarcely see the file before me. I hope we ain't going to fight in the dark, anyhow. What would be the good of being a marksman, when you cannot see the end of your own rifle, let alone the man you are firing at?"

"Oh! We can't be going to attack in the dark," Will said. "I expect we have got a long march before us; and are going to work round, somehow, and take them in rear."

"Well, I hope whoever is acting as guide can see better in the darkness than I can; else we are safe to lose our way, and may find ourselves anywhere, in the morning.

"Confound it!" The exclamation was elicited by the speaker stumbling over a boulder, and nearly going on to his head.

"Silence in the ranks, there!" an officer said, close by.

Each regiment was followed by its ammunition mules, and hospital doolies—the latter being covered stretchers, or palkies, carried by natives. Besides these were dandies—or chairs—slung upon mules. This greatly added to the difficulty of a night march for, even in the daytime, the presence of baggage animals in a column, upon a narrow road, greatly hinders the troops and, at night, the delays occasioned by them are naturally very much greater.

For the first three and a half miles the column marched away from the enemy upon the Khotal, and the surprise of the soldiers increased at every step they took. At the end of that time they arrived at the village of Peiwar. Here they turned to the left and, after crossing several ravines, and stony water courses, arrived on a cultivated terrace; and kept along this till they reached a very stiff nullah, twenty feet deep.

The night was bitterly cold, the bank of the nullah was extremely slippery, and the boulders in the water course below coated with ice. The difficulty of getting the loaded animals across, in the darkness, was therefore very great. The passage of the various water courses caused great delays; and it was difficult to keep the column together, in the dark. At each passage, the rear was immensely delayed while the leading troops were passing; and these again had to be halted, while those behind them struggled over the difficulties. The men suffered much from cold, as the pace was so slow that they could not warm themselves; and the mounted officers specially suffered, in their hands and feet.

At midnight the ravine leading up to the Spingawi Pass was reached; but so dark was it that the 2nd Punjaubees, separated by a few yards from the regiment in front of them, marched straight on instead of turning up it; and the 22nd Pioneers, and the four artillery guns carried on elephants—being behind them—naturally went astray, also. Brigadier General Thelwall, who commanded the column, was at the head of his brigade; and was, for some time, unaware of the absence of two of his regiments but, after halting and finding that they did not come up, sent back a mounted officer who, after a two-mile ride, came up with the missing troops, and guided them back to the point where they had left the route.

From the foot of the ravine to the top of the pass is six miles in distance and, dark as it was in the open, it was still more so in the ravine, shadowed by the steep hills on either side. As the ascent continued the road became worse; the boulders being larger, and the holes and dried-up pools deeper. The darkness, and the prevailing white color of the stones, prevented the difference of level being observed; and many of the men had heavy falls, as the steep sides of these pools were often from two to four feet deep.

After marching for a mile and a half up the ravine, the report of a rifle was heard in the ranks of the 29th Punjaubees—who were leading the column—followed instantly by another discharge. Colonel Gordon—commanding the regiment—halted; and he and the general tried, in vain, to discover who had fired. No one could, or would, identify them; and this seemed clearly to prove that the rifles had been fired as a signal to the enemy, for they had not been loaded before the column started. The Punjaubee regiments contained many hill tribesmen—men closely connected, by ties of blood and religion, with the enemy whom they were marching to attack.

A non-commissioned officer and several of the men, who were just about the spot where the guns had been fired, were placed under arrest and sent back. It was afterwards found that two of their rifles had been discharged; and the men who fired, and their non-commissioned officer were tried by court martial for treachery, and were hung. After these men had been sent back, the 5th Ghoorkas, the company of Rangers, and two companies of the 72nd passed the 23rd Punjaubees, and took their places at the head of the column. In the course of the march a good many other men of the 23rd left the column, in the dark, and made their way back to camp.

It turned out, afterwards, that the Afghan sentries at the top of the pass heard the reports, and woke up the commander of the post; who, hearing no further cause of alarm, took no action in the matter. Had the traitors waited until the column was within a mile of the top of the pass, the Afghans would assuredly have taken the alarm but, firing at a distance of four and a half miles, they failed in the desired effect.

The advance was resumed, up the bed of the stream, for another mile and a half. About three in the morning the main water course was quitted, the road now entering a ravine to the left; up which, three miles further on, was the summit of the pass. The column continued its weary way up the ravine, slowly stumbling along in the dark.

One incident occurred, in this part of the road, showing the necessity, in night marching, for the regiments to keep close to each other. In one place a fir-covered island lay in the middle of the ravine, the torrent's bed lying on either side of it. When the two companies of the 72nd Highlanders—who had been following close to that of the Rangers—came to the spot, they were surprised to find that the troops in front had suddenly vanished. No explanation could be given as to the cause of this disappearance, so the company were halted until the mystery was solved.

The leading regiment had taken the passage to the right of the island, while the 72nd had gone to the left; the separation of the roads being unnoticed, in the dark. Had the roads diverged, instead of reuniting, much inconvenience might have been caused by the delay in collecting the separated portions of the force.

At last the foot of the Khotal was reached, where the track left the ravine and turned up the spur. The two guides—natives of the country, who had led the head of the column to this point—refused to go any further and, as the column was now at the point where the fighting might begin, they were allowed to depart.

It was about six o'clock when the Ghoorkas began to climb the spur. The morning had broken; but it was still dark, and the path was almost invisible in the shadow of the trees. The Ghoorkas—their rifles loaded now—made their way quietly up the hill. Presently the challenge of the sentry was heard, followed by two shots.

It was a relief to the men, after ten hours of weary stumbling along in the cold and darkness, to know that they were, at length, face to face with their foe. Cold and fatigue were at once forgotten and, with eyes strained through the darkness, and rifles ready for use, every man pressed forward. Fifty yards up the hill, behind the sentry who had fired, was the first stockade of the enemy; formed by several large trees, which had been felled so as to completely block up the road, presenting an obstacle of about eight feet high to the attacking force.

The Afghan pickets lining the stockade poured a volley into the Ghoorkas who, led by Major Fitzhugh and Captain Cook, made a rush at the place. For a few minutes there was a fierce fight at the trees but, as fresh assailants momentarily poured up, the obstruction was scaled; and the Afghans retired on a second stockade, eighty yards back. Here another stand was made but, the spur being a little wider, the Ghoorkas were able to work round and, taking the defense in flank, soon drove the Afghans back. Beyond this point the ground was clear of trees; and the road ran, in short zigzags, up the steep hill to the breastwork which lined the edge of the top zigzag. A mountain gun, at this point, swept the approach to the position; while the hill at its back was now covered with Afghans, who opened a heavy fire upon the troops as, in the dim morning light, they issued from the trees.

By the time that the Ghoorkas and the Rangers had cleared the second stockade, the wing of the 72nd Highlanders—ascending by the right flank—had made their way up to the front; and the whole now advanced together. As quickly as possible they pushed up the hill, under the heavy fire of the enemy. The latter fought well, and a number of them were killed before retiring. At the defense erected at the top of the zigzag, so obstinately did the Afghans in front hold their ground that their comrades, behind, were enabled to remove their mountain gun.

To the right of the enemy's position was a knoll, and the 72nd at once took possession of this; and two mountain guns were brought up to their assistance. The Afghans were seen, in great numbers, in the broken ground ahead. The Ghoorkas and the little body of Rangers pushed on against them. Presently the enemy gathered, and made a rush down upon them; and a desperate hand-to-hand fight took place, for a few minutes. The men were scattered among the trees, and each fought for himself.

William Gale had just reloaded his rifle when he saw Captain Herbert—who commanded his company—fall to the ground, and three Afghans spring forward to finish him. With a bound, Will reached the side of the officer. Two of the Afghans had already discharged their pieces. The third leveled and fired. So close was he that the flash almost burnt the soldier's face, and he felt a sharp pain, as if a hot iron had passed across his cheek. In an instant, he shot his assailant dead; and then, with bayonet, stood at bay as the other two Afghans rushed upon him.

They had drawn their tulwars, and slashed fiercely at him; but he kept them off with his bayonet until a Ghoorka, running up, cut down one of them with his kookerie—a heavy, sword-like knife which the Ghoorkas carry, and which they always employ in preference to the bayonet, in fighting at close quarters. The remaining Afghan at once took to flight. The 29th Punjaubees had now come into action; and the Afghans, disheartened at the loss of their position, fell back and withdrew into the woods which cover the plateau.

At half-past seven o'clock the whole force—except the elephant guns—had reached the plateau; and General Roberts was able to flash the news, of the successful capture of the enemy's first position, to Brigadier General Cobbe, who was in command of the force which was to operate direct against the Peiwar-Khotal. A rest was given the troops after their long march and, at half-past nine, they again fell in for the attack upon the pine-covered slopes in the direction of the Peiwar-Khotal. How strong were the enemy who might be lurking there, they knew not. But it was certain that he would fight obstinately and, in so dense a forest, much of the advantage gained by drill and discipline is lost.

A change was made in the order of the advance. The troops who had before led the advance, and had done the fighting, were now placed in the rear; and the 23rd Pioneers led the way, followed by the 2nd and 29th Punjaubees. The column crossed the plateau without opposition, and began the ascent towards the enemy's position in the woods. Considerable caution was needed, as no one had any knowledge of the country, and all were ignorant of the position and numbers of the enemy; who might, for aught they knew, be massing in great numbers for an attack upon the front, or one of the flanks.

The line of skirmishers entered the pine wood near the rocky hillside, and a rolling fire of musketry soon told that they were engaged, from end to end of the line. It was slow work; for fallen trees, rocks, and bushes everywhere hampered the advance. Still the skirmishing line—reinforced from behind—pushed forward steadily and, presently, cleared the Afghans off the hillside.

When the troops reached the top, they found a valley in front of them and, from the woods on the opposite side, so heavy a musketry fire was kept up that it was evident the Afghans intended to make a desperate stand here. The valley—or rather ravine—was a narrow one: fifty yards wide, at its foot; and scarce three times as much, from brow to brow. The enemy—hidden among the trees—could not be made out, except by their continual fire. They did not content themselves, however, with the mere defense of their side of the hill but, from time to time, large numbers charged down, and tried to force their way up that held by the British. Each time, however, when they attempted this, the Punjaubees drove them back with slaughter.

It was clear that the Afghans were in great numbers, for their line extended for a mile and a half along the hillside. Major Anderson of the 23rd Pioneers, after repulsing one of these attacks, led four companies to the assault of the Afghan position, and drove the enemy back for some little distance; but Major Anderson fell, and the party retired. Colonel Curry—who commanded the regiment—again led the men forward and, for a time, a hand-to-hand fight took place. For two hours the rifle contest continued, without cessation. The storm of bullets was tremendous, but no very great execution was done, on either side, both parties lying behind the shelter of trees.

So far, no advantage had been gained by the British; and General Roberts felt that, with the force under his command, it would be rash to attempt to carry so strong a position, held by a greatly superior force.

In the meantime, the attack upon the Peiwar-Khotal from the valley had commenced. Before daylight Brigadier General Cobbe, with the 5th Punjaub Infantry and the 8th Regiment, left camp; his object being to cooperate with the flank attack. The 8th Regiment moved directly towards the pass, while the 5th Punjaubees climbed one of the principal spurs between the Peiwar and Spingawi Khotals.

The ascent was extremely difficult, and it took the troops six hours to reach the summit. During the last portion of the ascent, they came under the fire of the enemy. When near the summit, Major Macqueen of the 5th Punjaubees saw, through an opening in the pine wood, the Afghan camp, with their baggage animals; which were placed, for shelter, in the glade behind the Peiwar-Khotal. Two mountain guns were at once brought up, and a fire opened upon the Afghan camp. In a few minutes the tents caught fire, the animals stampeded in all directions; and the enemy in front, seized with a panic, began rapidly to retreat.

The Afghan troops facing General Roberts' column, when they found their comrades on their right retreating, began to draw off, and the fire sensibly diminished. The movement was accelerated by the four elephant guns—which had, at length, come up—opening fire into the pine-wood forest. As the fire slackened, a reconnaissance of the hill was made by General Roberts and his staff; but the result showed that the mountain was so covered with pines, and brushwood, that it formed an almost impenetrable barrier to the advance of troops—for the growth was so thick that it was impossible to say in which direction any movement should be made. The experience gained, in the last six hours of hard fighting, had shown how difficult it was to keep command over troops scattered along a front of half a mile long, in the forest, where nothing could be seen beyond a radius of a few yards.

The general, therefore, determined to desist from the attempt to force his way direct to the top of the Peiwar-Khotal; and to march to his left and so, by menacing the Afghan line of retreat, to hasten the movement towards the rear which had evidently begun. The men were, therefore, brought back to the plateau to the east of the ravine. Here they were halted for a time, and the contents of their haversacks furnished them with a meal.

At two o'clock they again drew up on the Spingawi plateau. The 2nd Punjaub Infantry being left on the hill, to oppose the Afghans, should they again advance in that direction; the rest of the column entered the defile leading into the Hurriab valley, far in the rear of the Peiwar-Khotal. As soon as the enemy—who were still opposing the 2nd Punjaub Infantry—saw the head of the column enter the defile, they were seized with a panic lest their retreat should be cut off; and began to retreat with the greatest haste, as they had to make their way across two mountain ridges, before they could pass the spot towards which our troops were moving. The advance of the column, however, was necessarily slow; as the woods and side valleys had to be carefully examined, lest a flank attack should be made upon them.

In two hours the head of the column emerged from the forest on to the open slopes above the highest cultivated point in the Hurriab valley. It was now four o'clock. The short December day was drawing to a close. No enemy were in sight, for their line of retreat was hidden in the bed of the stream, a couple of miles further on; and no one knew where they were to be found. The troops were much exhausted with the want of rest, and with their heavy work—for they had now been marching, and fighting, for eighteen hours—and they were glad to receive the order to bivouac; although they had no tents, or food, and the cold—as might be expected on a winter day, at an elevation of over 9000 feet above the sea—began to be very severe.

A number of the nearest trees were felled by the pioneers, and huge fires were soon alight. There was still some uneasiness, as no one knew where the force under General Cobbe was, or whether the attack on the Peiwar-Khotal had been successful or not.

While the 5th Punjaub Infantry had been mounting the spur, halfway between the Peiwar and the Spingawi Khotal, the 8th Regiment had moved directly upon the pass. The Afghans, who had expected an attack, had remained under arms until three in the morning when, hearing no sounds in our camp, they had been dismissed to rest.

Three guns of the Royal Artillery, and two of the Royal Horse Artillery took up their post 800 yards in front of our camp; where their fire, at the crest of the pass, would assist the advance of the 8th. These, after two hours' march, found themselves at seven in the morning on the last spur, which is separated from the Peiwar-Khotal by a deep ravine. When it became daylight, a few minutes later, the enemy caught sight of our artillery in the valley, and at once opened fire. Although they had six field pieces at the top of the hill, only three had been placed in position to command the valley and the ascent; and the mountain battery, which had arrived the afternoon before, was not brought to the front.

The three field pieces, and the mountain gun on the spur kept up a continuous fire on our battery, of five guns. These were, however, almost beyond their range, and but little damage was done. On our side, the fire was chiefly directed against the mountain gun, at the end of the spur; and at any bodies of men who showed themselves. The artillery duel went on for four hours and, in the meantime, the infantry were engaged sharply with the Afghans. These had taken up their position in the woods, on the other side of the ravine; and kept up a continuous fire upon the 8th. The distance, however, was too great for much execution on either side, especially as both parties were sheltered in the woods.

About ten o'clock the Afghans were seen gathering in strength, as if to come down across the road leading up to the Khotal, to attack the 8th in the rear. A squadron of the 18th Bengal Cavalry charged up the valley, and the enemy retired up the hill again and, seeing that they could not cross the road, without the chance of being cut up by the cavalry, they did not try to repeat the experiment.

At eleven o'clock Brigadier General Cobbe was wounded in the leg, and Colonel Barry-Drew succeeded him in the command; receiving the orders which had been given to General Cobbe—that the Khotal was not to be attacked, till there was some evidence that the flank attack had shaken the enemy's defense, in front.

At twelve o'clock the guns, with the 2nd Punjaub Infantry, alarmed the Afghans by their fire upon the camp and, although the Afghan guns in front kept up their fire, the musketry fire decreased considerably. Seeing this, Colonel Drew ordered the artillery to be brought up nearer. When—after advancing 300 yards—they came to a ravine crossing the road, the Afghans—who had come down the hill to meet them—opened a heavy fire and, the road being narrow, only the leading gun could come into action. However, the two companies of the 8th—which were acting as an escort to the guns—advanced in skirmishing order, and drove the Afghans up the hill.

The panic among the Afghans on the plateau having now spread to the troops at the Khotal, their fire entirely ceased; and the 8th Regiment descended the defile, and began to climb the path to the Khotal. Not a hostile shot was fired and, at half-past two, they reached the enemy's camp, which they found deserted.

CHAPTER 11: A PRISONER.

The panic which had seized the Afghans, when they found their retreat menaced, had been thorough and complete and, when the 8th Regiment entered the camp, they found that the tents were standing. Food had been left, ready cooked, and every possession had been abandoned. In the artillery camp, the gunners had left their silver-mounted brass helmets and caps, as well as their guns and carriages. A body of friendly Turis had accompanied the column, making a demonstration on its flank; and these, arriving upon the spot, plundered the Afghan camp of everything of the smallest value.

No one knew what had become of the main body, under General Roberts. The Bengal Cavalry scouted for some distance in advance, but found no signs of the enemy. Strong pickets were set, in case the Afghans should rally and return. The tents were brought up from the camp below, fires were lit, and the 8th encamped for the night.

In the morning, communication was established between the two camps and, it having been ascertained that the enemy had fled, in the greatest disorder, towards the Shatur-Gardan Pass leading down to Cabul, there was no prospect of further fighting. The Afghans had abandoned all their guns, and even thrown away a great quantity of muskets, in their rapid retreats. Great stores of flour and other provisions were discovered, in the various villages, and were divided among the troops.

The winter was now setting in, and the Shatur-Gardan Pass might, any moment, be closed by deep snow. There was, therefore, no prospect of a renewal of hostilities before the spring. Preparations were made for putting a regiment on the top of the Khotal. The rest of the force were to winter at Khuram. General Roberts, with an escort of cavalry, rode to the Shatur-Gardan Pass, and assured himself that the whole of the Afghan army had fled beyond this point.

The troops were, for some time, kept hard at work lowering the captured guns and ammunition down to the valley. A portion of the troops advanced as far as Ali-Kheyl, the principal town of the plateau. The Jajis—the inhabitants of the country—had hitherto been extremely hostile but, cowed by the defeat of the Afghans, they submitted without resistance.

On the 12th, all the preparations for the return were complete. It was known that there was another pass from Ali-Kheyl into the Khuram valley, by the south. This had never been explored by any European; but General Roberts determined to return by it, with a portion of his force, as the pass might be found valuable in future operations. The force detailed for the march through the Sappir defile was composed of the 8th Ghoorkas, a wing of the 72nd Highlanders, a company of the Norfolk Rangers, the 23rd Punjaub Pioneers, and a mountain battery.

The country through which the march was to be made was inhabited by the Mongals, a turbulent robber tribe. The column marched at nine in the morning and, after their down march, arrived at the village of Sappir at midday. The road lay down the Hurriab river, till the Khuram river was reached; and then along the right bank, passing through the village of Kermana; after which it turned up a narrow road, for two miles, till an open plateau was reached, at the farther end of which stood the village of Sappir. It was reported, here, that the Mongals intended to defend a defile and hill pass, two miles farther on. The 23rd Pioneers were therefore pushed on, to occupy the pass and bivouac there. The remainder of the troops camped in the village.

No signs of the enemy were seen, either by the 23rd Pioneers or in the vicinity of the camp. The troops were to march at three in the morning, and the tents were struck an hour after midnight. The track up the pass was excessively steep, and very difficult for the camels. The cold was bitter and, in places where water had crossed the road, there were slippery surfaces of ice—which hindered the camels considerably—and it was past eight o'clock before the rear guard arrived at the top of the pass. From a commanding position, overlooking the defile and surrounding waste of rugged and barren mountains, not an enemy could be seen; and it was hoped that the report of the intended attack was a false one.

The troops now began to descend the defile, which was known as the Manjiar Pass. Troublesome as the ascent had been, the descent was infinitely more so; and it was with difficulty that the camels could be made to go down the deep and slippery roads. The gorge was five miles in length. The track, for the first part, ran through a deep ravine of perpendicular walls; which narrowed in places to a few yards, overhanging the path until they seemed to meet, and form a tunnel, through which it ran. Had an attack been made on the column, as it struggled with its difficulties through this portion of the pass, the result would have been disastrous; for it would have been impossible to place troops on the heights, to cover the advance. Here and there side ravines broke into the road, in any of which ambushes might have been laid.

It was not, however, until the difficult part of the road had been passed, and a comparatively open valley reached, that any of the natives were seen. Then a few men were observed on the heights but, as they were supposed to be shepherds, no notice was taken of them. Believing that all danger of attack was now over, the general ordered all the troops—with the exception of the baggage guard, which was composed of the 3rd Ghoorkas, and a few of the 72nd Highlanders and Norfolk Rangers—to march forward to the camp; which was to be pitched at a village called Keraiah, in the open valley.

This, as the result proved, was a very rash move. Before the head of the column had extricated itself from the ravine, numbers of the country people were seen collecting, in small detached parties. By degrees they closed in, and were soon within fifty yards of the convoy. Captain Goad—in charge of the baggage—was close to a small guard of 72nd Highlanders when, suddenly, a volley was fired by the Mongals.

Captain Goad fell, his thigh bone broken by a bullet. Sergeant Green, with three privates of the 72nd, picked him up and, having placed him under cover of a rock, turned to defend themselves. They were but four men against a large number; but they stood steady and, firing with careful aim, and picking off their man each time, they kept the enemy at bay until help arrived.

Simultaneously, all along the line of the baggage column, the Mongals attacked. From the heights on both sides a fire was kept up, while the more daring swept down in parties upon the rear guard of Ghoorkas, commanded by Captain Powell. The baggage guard all behaved with great steadiness; defending the path on both sides, while the baggage animals continued their way along it.

William Gale was on duty with the party; and was, like the rest, busy with his rifle. A sergeant next to him was hit in the leg; and Will—laying down his rifle—stopped one of the camels, and assisted the wounded man to mount it. The attack of the Mongals became more furious, as they saw their anticipated prey escaping them, in spite of all their efforts; but their attempts to close were in vain, and the convoy made its way down to the village; with the loss of one killed, and two officers, and eight men wounded. Captain Powell and Captain Goad both died, from the effects of their injuries. The enemy's loss must have been considerable, as the fire of the troop was steady and accurate, and the distance small.

After a halt, for a day or two, the column marched to Khuram, where it encamped. Captain Herbert had reported to the colonel the manner in which Private Gale had defended him, when wounded and attacked by three Afghans; the incident, too, had been observed by many of his comrades and, as a reward, the young soldier was promoted to the rank of corporal; and the colonel told him that, had not similar acts of bravery been performed in the hand-to-hand action, on the Spingawi-Khotal, he would have been mentioned for the Victoria Cross.

The mountain tops were now deep in snow; but in the valley the temperature was very agreeable, and the troops enjoyed their rest much. This was not, however, to be of long duration. From the lower end of the Khuram valley runs off another valley, known as the "Khost." This was an entirely unknown country to the Europeans, but it was said to be extremely hostile. Parties had come down and carried off cattle and, at any time, a formidable raid might have taken place, and our line of communication been entirely cut.

The country was ruled by an Afghan governor, who sent in to say that he was willing to hand it over to us. There was, therefore, no expectation that there would be any resistance; and the expedition was designed rather to overawe the country, and to obtain information as to its extent and capabilities, than with any idea of permanent occupation. The column consisted of a squadron of the 10th Hussars, the 5th Bengal Cavalry, the 21st and 28th Punjaub Infantry, two mountain batteries, a wing of the 72nd Highlanders, and two companies of the Norfolk Rangers. This force marched from Hazir-pir, and halted for the night at Jaji-Midan, at the head of the valley leading to the Darwiza Pass, through which the track runs into the Khost valley.

At eight o'clock next morning, the troops moved forward. The ground was difficult, for the road ran between terraced fields on the side of the ravine, and obliged men and animals to pass in single file. It was not, therefore, until twelve o'clock that the rear guard moved out of the camp. Beyond this point, the road up the pass was not difficult. From the summit, a wide view was obtained. At the end of the valley—six miles distant—the plain of the Khost country was seen. It was seen that—owing to the slow progress the troops were making—the baggage train, consisting of 1000 camels, would not be able to reach the proposed camping ground, at the lower end of the valley, before dark. The general, therefore, ordered it to halt at the top of the pass, where the ground was open. The 21st Punjaubees, and a mountain battery, were to stay there for its protection; and bring it on, next day. The mules, with the regimental baggage, went on with the troops.

The column met with no opposition. It halted near the village of Bakh, half a mile from the foot of the hills; where the valley widened into a plain, six miles long and four broad. The force encamped here on the 4th, to allow the convoy to come up. The following morning the column marched to the other end of the valley; and the next day the Afghan governor of Matun—the chief place of the Khost—rode in to welcome the general.

On the 6th of January the force marched to Matun. They found that this fort was a square-walled enclosure, 100 yards each side, with circular corner bastions. There was a central square enclosure, with round towers at its angles. As the fort was approached, its garrison—which consisted of 100 local militia—were formed up, in two lines, at a mosque outside the fort. The general with his staff rode in, and a long interview took place between him and the governor. The troops encamped outside.

In the evening information came in, from the villages in the plain, that large numbers of the Mongals—who inhabited the hills—were meditating an attack. Strong pickets were posted, and the night passed quietly. In the morning large numbers of tribesmen flocked down into the villages, and gradually surrounded the camp.

At one o'clock the troops fell in. The cavalry were sent out against the enemy in the northwest direction, followed by the 28th Punjaubees and Number 2 mounted battery. The Mongals at once fell back to the hills.

The squadron of the 10th Hussars were dismounted, and ordered to skirmish up a small knoll to the west. From this they drove the enemy, who gathered again on a spur opposite. Here they were charged by the 5th Punjaub Cavalry, and fell back higher up the ridge. The mountain guns and infantry now arrived, and speedily drove them over the crest.

General Roberts, with his staff, rode out to watch the skirmish; and soon after he had left the enemy, who occupied the village to the northeast, showed in force. Two of the mountain guns opened upon them.

On the south they now approached, under the cover of the old Afghan cavalry lines, to within half a mile before being perceived; and also occupied a walled village there. The other two guns in camp shelled the village, and soon drove the enemy out.

When the general returned to camp, at half-past two, he found the attack driven off in all directions; and ordered the 21st Punjaubees, the 72nd Highlanders, and the Norfolk Rangers to follow up the enemy to the east and southeast, with the mountain guns; and to burn the villages which had sheltered the enemy. The first village was found deserted. At another, a quarter of a mile behind, the enemy made a stand; but were shelled out, and the plain beyond the Matun river was soon covered with fugitives. Major Stewart—with forty men of the 5th Punjaub Cavalry, who accompanied the column—charged 400 of them, and cut down many; until checked by the heavy fire of matchlock men from the high bank.

No more fighting took place. The combination of tribes which had attacked the camp were estimated at 6000 men. Eighty prisoners were taken. These, two nights afterwards, took advantage of a night alarm to attempt to escape, and attacked the guard. The attempt, however, was frustrated; but only after several of the prisoners had been shot down.

Some days passed, quietly. Reconnaissances were made up the valley. While waiting here, the news of the capture of Candahar, by General Stewart, arrived. Parties of engineers surveyed the country, and all passed off quietly.

On the 25th, a portion of the force marched back to Hazir-pir On the 26th of January the general determined to withdraw this force altogether; as no advantage was gained by its retention, and the garrison would be constantly exposed to the attacks of the natives, who were already threatening it. The fort was handed over to Sultan Jan, a man of good family, who was appointed to govern the Khost, temporarily. He had under him the guard of the former governor, and some fresh natives; being, in all, 300 men. The headmen of the villages were called together, and these promised to obey his rule.

Some of the chiefs of the Mongals, and other neighboring tribes, came in. Sheep were given to them, and they were told that, so long as they desisted from interference in the valley, no steps would be taken against them. The troops, however, had only made one day's march when a messenger arrived from Sultan Jan; saying that, immediately the troops had marched, the Mongals had come down to attack the fort. A strong party were therefore marched back at once. After destroying the stores, and setting fire to the fort, they drew off the governor and marched back to camp; the Mongals, although in great force, not venturing to offer any resistance.

On the return of the force to the Khuram valley, a wing of the Norfolk Rangers was sent up to reinforce the troops stationed on the top of the Peiwar-Khotal; as the Jajis and Mongals had been gathering in large numbers, and threatening an attack on that post.

William Gale was, with his company, stationed at Ali-Kheyl. The enemy abstained from any open attack, but they often harassed the sentries. One night, Will was corporal in charge of a picket of eight men, posted at a hut half a mile from the village. The object of the picket was to prevent any sudden attack being made upon the company; who were in a small village, a quarter of a mile in the rear, where a large quantity of grain was stored. Two men were posted as sentries, some hundred yards in advance of the hut.

Will had visited the sentry to the right and, finding all was well, here, moved across to the left.

"Is everything quiet?" he asked the sentry.

"I don't know, corporal. Two or three times I have thought that I heard noises, and twice I have challenged."

"What sort of noise?"

"Once it seemed to be a crack, like a dried stick when some one treads on it. The other time it was as if a stone had been dislodged."

"I will wait with you," Will said. "Two pairs of ears are better than one."

Again there was a slight sound heard.

"I don't like to fire," Will said. "The alarm would spread, and the whole camp get under arms. There is something moving, I am convinced; but it may be only a stray bullock. I will go forward, and see if I can make it out; and do you stand ready to fire, if I am attacked.

"After doing so, fall back on the picket, at once. If the enemy are in force, hold the hut to the last. In ten minutes you will have help from the village, behind."

Holding his rifle advanced, in readiness to fire, William Gale made his way forward, cautiously, towards the spot whence the noise seemed to proceed. When he was some forty yards in advance of the sentry, a number of figures rose suddenly from some bushes, and fired. Will fired, and saw the man at whom he aimed go down but, at the same instant, three or four guns were discharged; and he fell to the ground, shot through the leg. There was a rush of men towards him. A tulwar was waved, and fell, with a crushing blow, on his shoulder; and he became insensible.

When he recovered consciousness he was being carried along, a man holding his arms and another his legs. The pain was excruciating, and he fainted again; after hearing, during his brief period of consciousness, a sharp fusilade of musketry, which told him that his comrades were defending the hut against the enemy.

When again he came to his senses, it was daylight. He was lying in a small room, and an old woman was applying bandages to the sword cut on his shoulder. Although he did not know it, he was ten miles from the spot where the attack had been made.

Among those who had taken part in it was the head of a small Jaji village, lying behind the hills. This chief was a crafty old savage, who had been desirous of remaining neutral in the strife. The determination of his people to join in the attack, by the tribes, had forced him to consent to their so doing. Before starting he had, however, made them swear that any wounded men who fell into their hands should not—in accordance with the Afghan custom—be instantly despatched; but should be brought back to the village.

His intention was to have some hostages. If the English repulsed the attack and, in the spring, again advanced; he would be able to prove his goodwill to the cause, by handing the soldiers whom he had protected over to them. Upon the other hand, should the British fall back and the Afghans advance in the spring, he could hand the prisoners over to them, or send them down to Cabul, as a proof that his people had fought against the British. He had himself accompanied his men and, seeing after Will had fallen that he was still living, had at once ordered two of his men to carry him off to the village.

The attack upon the guard house proved unsuccessful. The six soldiers defended themselves until the company from the village, behind, came up to the rescue. Several other attacks, at various points, took place. But the British were on the alert; and the hillsmen, finding that their enemies were not to be taken by surprise, scattered again to the village.

The ball had fortunately passed through William Gale's leg, without either breaking a bone or cutting an artery; but the wound in the shoulder was more serious, and the effect of the strain upon it, in carrying him, brought on violent inflammation. Fever set in with delirium and, for weeks, the lad lay between life and death.

The old woman who nursed him was, like most of her country people, skilled in the treatment of wounds. The bandages were kept bathed with water, snow was constantly applied to his head, and a decoction of herbs given him to drink. His good constitution was in his favor and, at last, he recovered his senses; to find himself convalescent, but as weak as an infant.

In April the snow melted; and the chief, having by this time found that the English were not likely to advance beyond Ali-Kheyl, thought that it would best benefit his interest to send his prisoner down to Cabul. The Ameer was reported to be about to conclude peace with the British; and the chief thought that he was more likely to receive a reward, from him, for the care he had bestowed upon the prisoner, than from the English. Moreover, it would have been difficult to send him into the English camp, through the hostile villages; while no unfavorable comment would be incited, by his sending his prisoner down to Cabul.

Will Gale was far too weak to perform the journey on foot. He was, therefore, placed on a camel. The chief himself, and four of his headmen, accompanied him as an escort and, a week after the pass was open, they started up the valley to the Shatur-Gardan; and thence descended into the Logan Valley, below, on the way to Cabul.

CHAPTER 12: THE ADVANCE UP THE KHYBER.

Nothing has yet been said of the doings of the other columns: that under General Browne advancing, by the Khyber Pass, upon Jellalabad; that under General Stewart, by the Bolan Pass, upon Candahar.

General Browne's force had been gathered at the frontier line, at the mouth of the pass, awaiting the reply of the Ameer to the British ultimatum. None having been received, up to the night of the 20th of November, the advance took place in the morning; at the same hour at which General Roberts advanced from Thull in the Khurum valley.

The principal defense of the Khyber Pass was the fort Ali-Musjid. This fort stands on a most commanding position, on a rock jutting out from the hillside far into the valley, which its guns commanded. It was flanked by batteries erected on the hillsides, and was a most formidable position to capture. It was situated about six miles up the valley.

The force under General Browne was divided into four brigades. The first—under General Macpherson—consisted of the 4th battalion of the Rifle Brigade, the 20th Bengal Infantry, the 4th Ghoorkas, and a mountain battery. These were ordered to take a mountain road and—led by a native guide—to make a long circuit, and so to come down into the pass at a village lying a mile or two beyond Ali-Musjid.

The second brigade—under Colonel Tytler—consisting of the 1st battalion of the 17th Foot, the infantry of the Guides, the 1st Sikhs, and a mountain battery, were also to take to the hills and, working along on their crests, to come down upon the batteries which the Afghans had erected on the hillside opposite to Ali-Musjid.

The third brigade, consisting of the 81st Regiment, the 14th Sikhs, and the 24th Native Infantry; and the fourth brigade, composed of the 51st Regiment, 6th Native Infantry, and the 45th Sikhs, were to advance straight up the valley. With them was a mountain battery, a battery of Horse Artillery, one of Royal Artillery, and a battery of 40-pounders, drawn by elephants.

These brigades marched forward until they reached some rising ground in the valley, whence they could see Ali-Musjid, at a distance of a mile and a half, in front of them. The enemy at once opened fire. The gunners in the fort had been practising for some weeks, and had got the range with great accuracy; and their shot and shell fell thick along the slope. The column was therefore marched back behind its crest, and there halted; and the men were allowed to fall out and eat their dinners, as it was desired that the flanking columns of Macpherson and Tytler—which had very much further to go—should reach the positions assigned to them before the attack began.

The artillery, however, took up their position on the crest, and opened fire on the fort. The effect of the light guns was but slight, but the 40-pounders produced considerable effect on the face of the fort.

After a halt for some time, the troops were ordered to advance. The 45th Sikhs were first thrown out upon the hillside and, working their way along on the right of the valley, opened a heavy musketry fire against the Afghans in the batteries there. Presently the 51st and 6th Native Infantry joined them; while the 81st, the 24th, and 14th Sikhs worked along on the left.

The scene was one of the most picturesque ever witnessed in warfare. From the fortress, standing on the perpendicular rock in the center of the valley, the flashes of the great guns came fast and steadily; while the edges of the rock, and fort, were fringed with tiny puffs of musketry. From the rising ground in the valley, the smoke of the British guns rose up in the still air as, steadily and fast, they replied to the fire of the fort. Both sides of the steep hill slopes were lined with British infantry—the quick flash of the rifles spurting out from every rock and bush; while continuous lines of light smoke rose from the Afghan entrenchments which faced them.

Gradually the British skirmishers advanced, until they were close to the Afghan entrenchments on the hillsides abreast of the fort. So far, there was no sign that Macpherson's brigade had reached the post assigned to it, high up on the hill; or that Tytler had worked round to the village in the enemy's rear. Some attacks which were made upon the Afghans were repulsed, with loss. Major Birch and Lieutenant Fitzgerald were killed, and Captain Maclean wounded; and between thirty and forty of the rank and file were killed, or wounded. As the fort and its defenses could not have been carried by direct attack, without immense loss of life; it was determined to cease operations until morning, in order to give the flanking columns time to reach the positions assigned to them. A wing of a regiment, from each brigade, was ordered to remain on the hillside facing the Afghan entrenchments. The rest of the troops fell back a short distance, and lay down as they were, for the night.

In the meantime, the brigades of Macpherson and Tytler had encountered enormous difficulties on the line of march. The roads they had taken were mere tracks, and there were many places where it was almost impossible to get the mountain guns along. From daybreak until late at night the troops labored, unceasingly. They knew, by the dull roar echoed and re-echoed among the mountains, that their comrades below were engaged; and the thought that a failure might ensue, owing to their absence from the contest, nerved them to continued exertions.

Late at night, however, Macpherson with his brigade arrived on the top of the hill facing Ali-Musjid; and Tytler, with his column, came down into the Khyber valley in rear of the fort. But, though unopposed, their march had not been unnoticed and, late in the evening, the news reached the Afghans that the British were marching down into the valley behind them. A wild panic instantly seized them. Clothes, ammunition, guns, everything that could impede their flight were thrown away; and the garrison of Ali-Musjid, and the Afghans in the hillside entrenchments fled, a herd of frightened fugitives, up the valley. Hasty as was their retreat, they were not in time. Tytler, with his column, debouched into the valley before they had passed the spot where the mountain path descended into it; and large numbers were taken prisoners.

As at the Peiwar-Khotal, the Afghans proved themselves capable of defending a strong position, valiantly; but were converted into a mob of panic-stricken fugitives, by their line of retreat being threatened. A European army, under like circumstances, would have fallen back in good order. Their force was amply sufficient to have swept aside the little column which barred their retreat, and they would have occupied a fresh position farther to the rear, and renewed the conflict. Not so the Afghans. The capture of Ali-Musjid brought with it the entire demoralization of the Afghan army which, a few hours before, had been fully confident in its power to repulse any attack which might be made upon it.

The British continued their advance, passed through the Khyber Pass, and entered the broad valley near whose head stands the town of Jellalabad. Beyond a few shots, fired at them by tribesmen high up on the mountain side, they experienced no opposition, whatever and, a week after the fight in the Khyber, entered Jellalabad and encamped around it.

Further than this it was not intended to go, for the present. Winter was now close at hand. Between Jellalabad and Cabul were a series of most difficult passes. An army advancing up them would have immense difficulty to encounter, and might find itself cut off from India by the snows. In the Jellalabad valley the weather is mild, large stores of provisions were obtainable, and here it was determined to remain, through the winter; and to recommence the campaign, in the spring, with the advantage of the Khyber Pass—one of the keys of Afghanistan—being in our hands.

But a day or two after reaching Jellalabad—having defeated and dispersed one of the two Afghan armies—the news arrived of the capture of the Peiwar-Khotal—the second key of Afghanistan—and the utter rout of the army defending it. Thus, in little more than a week after the commencement of the campaign Sheer-Ali, the Ameer, saw the entire overthrow of the army which he had, for so many years, been occupied in organizing and training. The positions which he had deemed impregnable had both been taken, after a single day's fighting; and his capital lay virtually at the mercy of his conquerors. In one short week, his hopes and plans had been scattered to the winds.

Sheer-Ali was not wholly to be blamed. He had for many years received an annual present of money and arms, from the British government; but upon the other hand, he saw Russia marching with giant steps towards his northern frontier and, contrasting the energy and enterprise of the great northern power, with the inactivity which he may have supposed to prevail among the men who governed England, he became more and more anxious; and asked the English definitely to state whether he could rely upon them for assistance, should he be attacked by the Russians.

He received a reply from the Duke of Argyle—the British minister for India—of a doubtful nature, couched in terms which seem to have aroused his resentment. From this moment, there can be no doubt that the Ameer's course was decided upon. He was between the hammer and the anvil and, as he could obtain no guarantee of assistance from England, he determined to throw himself into the arms of Russia.

Letters were exchanged between him and General Kaufmann—the Russian viceroy in Turkestan—and the latter gave him the warmest promises of support, if he would ally himself with Russia. Although he had, for years, declined to accept a British resident at Cabul, or to allow Englishmen to enter the country; he now, believing in the power and willingness of Russia to help, received the visit of a Russian general and staff, at Cabul.

Unfortunately for the Ameer, the government of England had now changed hands; and the ministry at once sent to Sheer-Ali, to demand that he should receive a British resident. It was late in the year, and the Ameer—acting, no doubt, on the advice of his Russian friends—sought to gain time by evasive answers. The British government—who saw through the ruse—ordered the envoy to advance, with a strong escort. This obliged the Ameer to come to a final decision; and the die was cast by the escort being stopped, by force, on its arrival at Ali-Musjid.

There is no doubt that the Ameer, and his friends, calculated that it was already too late in the season for the English to gather a sufficient force, on the frontier, to force the passes held by the Afghan army before the snows. The promptness of action of the English government, the valor of their troops, and the unusually late setting in of the winter combined to overthrow the Ameer's plans. Had the campaign been delayed till the spring, there can be little doubt that the British, in their advance, would have found themselves opposed—if not by a Russian army—at least by an army led and officered by Russians, with Russian engineers and artillerymen. The promptness of their advance, and the capture of the passes and the dispersion of the Afghan armies, within a week of the opening of the campaign, altogether altered this position.

Sheer-Ali found himself a king without an army. The plains of Cabul were thronged with the panic-stricken fugitives from the Khyber and Peiwar; and Sheer-Ali started at night from his capital with his Russian friends, and made for the north; sending letter after letter ahead of him to General Kaufmann, imploring the promised aid of Russia. The rapid course of events, however, had entirely disconcerted the Russian plans.

In the spring, a Russian army might have advanced and cooperated with that of the Ameer; but the winter had set in, the distance was immense, and the Russians unprepared for instant action. The appeals of the unfortunate prince were responded to with vague generalities. He was no longer a powerful ally, but a broken instrument and, heartbroken with disappointment and failure, the unfortunate Sheer-Ali was seized by fever and died, in an obscure village, almost alone and wholly uncared for.

His son Yakoob Khan—who had, in his youth, proved himself a brave and able soldier; but who, having incurred his father's displeasure, had been for years confined as a prisoner at Herat—was now liberated, and took his place as his father's successor. He saw at once that, with a broken and disorganized army, he could not hope to resist the advance of the three British armies which, coming from Jellalabad, from the heights of the Shatur-Gardan, and from Candahar, would simultaneously advance upon his capital, as soon as the snows melted. He therefore opened negotiations and, early in May, himself descended from Cabul and had an interview with General Browne, at Gundamuk; when the preliminaries of peace were arranged, and signed.

The terms insisted upon by the British were not onerous. Yakoob was recognized as the Ameer of Afghanistan, the annual subsidy paid to his father was to be continued. The Khyber Pass and the Khurum valley, as far as the Peiwar-Khotal, were to remain in the hands of the British; and a British minister was to be stationed at Cabul. When peace had been signed, the greater portion of the British army retired to India; and the Khurum column, leaving two or three regiments in that valley, also fell back.

While the first and second divisions had been gaining victories in the Khyber and Khurum valleys, the column under General Stewart had met with difficulties of another kind. Between the Indus, and the foot of the range of mountains through which the Bolan Pass leads to the lofty plateau land above, a great waste of sand stretches. In the wet season, this tract of country is overflowed by the Indus. In the dry season it is a parched and bare desert, with its wells few and far apart. There were great difficulties met with in crossing this inhospitable plain, and the losses among the baggage animals were great; but the labors up to this point were as nothing, to those which had to be undergone on the way up the Bolan Pass.

This pass—whose ascent occupies three days—is in fact the mere bed of a stream, covered deeply with boulders and stones of all sizes, in which the baggage and artillery horses sank fetlock deep. The difficulties encountered were enormous, and vast numbers of camels, horses, and bullocks died by the way. Even with a double complement of horses, it was almost impossible to drag the guns up the deep, shingly pass; and great delays were experienced, before the force intended for operations against Candahar were assembled, at Quettah. So far, the advance had taken place through British territory, as Quettah has long been occupied by us.

When the advance began, it was rapid. No opposition was experienced by the way, until the column arrived within a few hours' march of Candahar; and then the enemy's attack was feeble, and easily repulsed. On the 9th of January, General Stewart entered the city.

Candahar, though not the capital, is the chief town of Afghanistan. It stands in a slightly undulating plain; and was, at one time, a city of great importance and wealth. Its position is the most important in Afghanistan. It bars the road to an enemy advancing from the north, through Herat; and threatens the flank and rear of one advancing against India, through Cabul. The country around is extremely fertile and, were irrigation properly used, and a railway constructed to India, Candahar and the surrounding country would again become one of the gardens of the world.

The authorities of the city made their submission, as the column approached it, and the army settled down to quiet occupation; broken only by isolated attacks, upon individual soldiers, by fanatical Ghazis. When peace was concluded, one of the conditions distinctly insisted upon by the British general, and agreed to by the Ameer, was that Candahar should remain in our possession. The alleged advantage thus gained, and the territory thus acquired, were afterwards abandoned by the British government succeeding that which had so vigorously carried out the war.

The occupation of Candahar by the British had been insisted on, at first, on the ground that, if Russia should make an advance against India, the British nation would have ample cause to rue the cession of Candahar; for it was declared that with this city strongly fortified, and surrounded by outlying works, 10,000 British troops there could arrest the progress of an invading army, however large, until England had had full time to put forth all her strength, and to assemble an army amply sufficient to secure the safety of the most valuable of our possessions—the empire of India.

It was said that, whatever allies Russia might have prepared for herself, by intrigues among the princes of India, these would not think of moving, so long as they knew that the fortress of Candahar remained as a British bulwark against an invading force. It was represented that, so long as this place held out, England would be able to devote her whole force towards repelling the foreign invader—instead of being obliged, simultaneously, to oppose him and to put down a formidable rising in India, itself.

It was, however, not the universal opinion that the best policy of England was to occupy this territory by an armed force; and subsequent events, with the change of government in England, led to a different determination.

CHAPTER 13: THE MASSACRE AT CABUL.

At each village through which William Gale and his escort passed, the inhabitants turned out, and hooted and yelled at the prisoner; and it was with the greatest difficulty that the chief protected him from personal violence. William himself was scarce conscious of what was passing. The swinging action of the camel added to his great weakness, and he would not have been able to keep his seat on its back, had not his captors fastened him with ropes to the saddle. Although the snow had only just melted on the Shatur-Gardan Pass, in the valleys below the heat of the sun was already great and, often as it poured down upon him, he lapsed into a state of semi-consciousness; and drowsily fancied that he was again in his canoe, tossing on the tiny waves, in the shelter of the reef.

On the sixth day after the start, a shout from his guard aroused him, as they emerged from a steep ascent amongst some hills. Before him an undulating ground, dotted with villages, stretched for three or four miles. At the foot of some steep hills, to the left of a wide valley, was a large walled town which he knew to be Cabul. On the hillside above it was a strong building: half fort, half palace. This was the Bala-Hissar, the abode of the Ameer, and the fortress of Cabul. In addition to the king's residence it contained barracks, store houses, magazines, and many residences. Towards this the cavalcade made its way.

They halted two miles from the town, and the chief sent his son forward to the Ameer, to inform him that he had brought in an English prisoner; and to request that an escort might be sent out, lest he should be killed by the people on approaching the town. An hour after the man had left, a troop of cavalry sallied out from the gate of the Bala-Hissar, and rode rapidly to the spot where the party had halted. Surrounding the camel on which William Gale was mounted, they conducted it to the fortress.

When he was lifted down from his camel, Will was unable to stand. Fever had set in again, and he was conveyed to an apartment in a house near the royal residence. The Ameer was already negotiating with the British, and orders were consequently given that the prisoner should receive every attention. The king's own doctor was ordered to attend him, and two attendants were told off to take charge of him. The old chief received a recompense, for the care which he had taken of the prisoner, which fully answered to his expectations; and he returned home well satisfied with the success of his policy.

For weeks, Will lay between life and death; and he was a mere skeleton when, two months after his arrival, he was able for the first time to sit up at the window, and look across the valley. Very gradually, he recovered strength. He was well supplied with food, and especially enjoyed the delicious fruits for which Cabul is celebrated.

His attendants were a old man and his son, the latter a lad of some fifteen years of age. The father did his duty, because ordered to do so; but his scowling face often showed the hatred which he felt of the Kaffir. The lad, however, took kindly to his patient. He it was who for hours together would, while Will was at his worst, sit by his bedside, constantly changing the wet cloths wrapped round his head, and sometimes squeezing a few drops of the refreshing juice of some fruit between his parched lips; and as his patient turned the corner and became slowly convalescent, his pleasure over the life he had saved, by his care, was very great.

Like most soldiers in the expeditionary force, Will had picked up a few words of Afghan; and had greatly increased his stock, during the time he lay in the hut in the mountains. Alone now all day with the boy, with nothing to do but to look out on the town below, and the wide valley beyond, he made rapid progress; and was, by the time he was strong enough to walk alone across the room, able to hold some sort of conversation with his friend—for so he had come to regard his devoted attendant.

One morning the boy came into the room in a state of great excitement.

"English officers are coming," he said, "with soldiers."

"But I thought it was peace," Will exclaimed, delighted. "You told me peace had been signed, at Gundamuk, two months ago."

"Yes, it is peace," the boy said. "The officers are coming in friendship, to be here with the Ameer."

Will was greatly moved at the news. When he had heard, six weeks before, that peace was signed, he had begun to hope that, some day or other, he should again be able to return to India; but the news, that some of his countrymen were close at hand, almost overcame him.

The next day, which was the 24th of July—although Will had lost all account of time—he saw vast numbers of people out on the plain; and presently, far away, he beheld a large body of horsemen. These, the lad told him, were the Ameer and his bodyguard, accompanied by the English officers. Cannon were fired in salute, and the garrison of the Bala-Hissar stood to their arms and, presently, Will saw a cavalcade riding up from the gate of the fortress. First came some Afghan cavalry; then rode a tall and stately man, whom the boy told him was the Ameer. But Will had no eyes for him. All his thoughts were centered on the white officer who rode beside him: Major Sir Lewis Cavagnari, the English envoy. Behind, among the chiefs of the Ameer's suite, rode two or three other English officers; and then came a detachment of some twenty-five cavalry, and fifty infantry of the Guides, a frontier force consisting of picked men.

As they passed near his window, Will stood up with his hand to his forehead, in salute. Major Cavagnari looked up in surprise, and spoke to the Ameer. The latter said a few words in reply, and then the cavalcade rode on to the palace. Ten minutes later two of the Ameer's attendants entered, and told Will to follow them.

He had that morning, for the first time since his arrival in Cabul, put on his uniform. He was still very weak but, leaning one hand upon his attendant's shoulder, he followed the messengers. He was conducted to a large room in the palace, where the Ameer and his adviser, and the British officers were sitting.

"Well, my lad," Major Cavagnari said, kindly, "I hear you have had a bad time of it. The Ameer tells me that you were taken prisoner near Ali-Kheyl, that you were badly wounded, and that after the snow melted you were brought down here. He says he gave orders that everything should be done for you, but that you have been very ill, ever since."

"I have been treated very kindly, sir," Will said, "and I am now getting round. I owe my life chiefly to the care and attention of the lad, here, who has watched over me like a brother."

Will's words were translated to the Ameer, who expressed his satisfaction, and ordered a purse of money to be given to the boy, in testimony of his approval of the care he had taken of his patient. As Major Cavagnari saw that the young soldier was almost too weak to stand, he at once told him to retire to his room, adding kindly:

"I will ask the Ameer to assign you quarters in the same house with us. We will soon bring you round, and make you strong and well again."

The same evening Will was carried over—for the fatigue he had undergone had been almost too much for him—to the large house assigned to Major Cavagnari, his officers and escort. It was built of wood, surrounded by a courtyard and wall. A room was assigned to Will, on the same floor as that occupied by the officers. The Afghan lad had received orders to accompany his patient, and remain with him as long as he stayed in Cabul.

Will's progress towards recovery was now rapid. He had no longer any cause for anxiety. He was carefully attended to by Doctor Kelly, the surgeon of the Guides, who had accompanied the mission as medical officer. The escort was commanded by Lieutenant Hamilton; and Sir Lewis Cavagnari was accompanied by Mr. William Jenkyns, of the Indian Civil Service, as his secretary. The care of Doctor Kelly, and the influence of quinine and tonics quickly added to Will's strength; but his best medicine was the sound of English voices, and the kindness which was shown to him. In a fortnight he was able to get about, as usual; and the doctor said that, in another month, he would be as strong as ever.

For two or three weeks after Major Cavagnari's arrival in Cabul, all went well; and it appeared as if the forebodings of those who had predicted trouble and danger to the little body who had gone up, as it were, into the lion's den, were likely to be falsified. That the mission was not without danger the authorities, and Major Cavagnari himself, were well aware; but it was important that the provision in the treaty of Gundamuk, by which England secured the right of maintaining a resident at Cabul, should be put into operation. Besides, the Ameer had himself given the invitation to Major Cavagnari, and had pressed the point warmly, giving the most solemn promises of protection.

At any rate, for the first two weeks the soldiers of the escort moved freely in the city, without molestation or insult; and it appeared as if the population of Cabul were content with the terms of peace which, indeed, imposed no burdens whatever upon them, and was supposed to have inflicted no humiliation on their national pride.

On the 5th of August, several regiments marched in from Herat. These troops—which were considered the flower of the Afghan army—had, in consequence of the distance of Herat from the seat of war, taken no part whatever in the struggle. Upon the very day after their arrival they scattered through the town, and were loud in their expression of hostility to the terms of peace. Had they been there, they said, the Kaffirs would have been easily defeated. Why should peace have been made at the very first reverse, and before the best fighting men had come to the front?

That evening Will Gale's young attendant came to him in his room, looking very serious.

"What is the matter, Yossouf?"

The lad shook his head.

"Trouble is coming," he said. "The Heratee men are stirring up the people, and the Budmashes are threatening that they will kill the English."

"But the Ameer has promised his protection," Will said. "He has sworn a solemn oath to stand by them."

"Yakoob Khan is weak," the boy said. "He was a great warrior, once; but he has been in prison for many years and he is no longer firm and strong. Some of the men round him are bad advisers. Yakoob Khan is no better than a reed to lean upon."

The next day there were riots in the town. The Heratee men taunted the people of Cabul with cowardice, and the excitement spread in the city. The soldiers of the escort could no longer stroll quietly through the bazaars; but were hooted at, and abused, although of the same religion and race as the people around them—for the Guide regiments were recruited from Pathans, and other border tribes.

Day after day the position became more threatening. The men of the escort were ordered no longer to go down into the town, where their presence was the occasion of tumults. A native officer of one of our cavalry regiments, who was spending his furlough at a village near Cabul, came into the Bala-Hissar and told Major Cavagnari that he feared, from rumors that reached him, that the Heratee regiments would break into mutiny, and attack the embassy.

The officer, who was a man of immense courage and coolness, replied quietly:

"If they do, they can but kill the three or four of us here, and our deaths will be revenged."

He, however, made representations to the Ameer as to the threatening behavior of the Heratee troops; but Yakoob assured him that he could rely thoroughly upon his protection, and that—even should the Heratee troops break out in mutiny—he would at once suppress the movement, with the Cabul regiments.

Yossouf became daily more anxious. Going into the town, to buy fruits and other necessaries, he heard more of what was going on than could the members of the embassy.

"Things are very bad," he said, over and over again. "It would be better for you all to go away. Why does your officer stop here, to be killed?"

"It is his duty to stay at his post," Will said. "He has been sent here by the commander-in-chief. He is like a soldier on outpost duty. He cannot desert his post, because he sees danger approaching; but I wish, with all my heart, that an order would come for his recall; not only because of the danger, but because I am longing to be back again with my regiment and, although I am strong enough to ride down to the Punjaub, now, I cannot go except with Sir Lewis and his escort. Although it is peace, a single Englishman could not travel down to Jellalabad, through the passes."

Will had, from the first week after the arrival of the mission, fallen into the position of an orderly-room sergeant. His duties were little more than nominal, but he acted as assistant to Mr. Jenkyns, and made copies and duplicates of reports and other documents which were, from time to time, sent down to Jellalabad. Being the only Englishman there, with the exception of the four officers, these greatly relaxed the usual distance prevailing between an officer and a corporal; and treated him as a civilian clerk when in office, and with a pleasant cordiality at other times. Except, indeed, that he messed alone, and kept in his own room of an evening, he might have been one of the party.

Each day, he reported to Sir Lewis the rumors which Yossouf had gathered in the town. In his reports to headquarters, Major Cavagnari stated that trouble had arisen from the conduct of the Heratee troops; but he scarcely made enough of the real danger which threatened the little party. Had he done so, the embassy would probably have been recalled.

"What have you got there, Yossouf?" Will asked one day, when his follower returned with a larger bundle than usual.

"I have brought the uniform of an Afghan soldier," the boy replied, "which I have purchased from the bazaar. It is for you. I am sure that soon you will be attacked. The English are brave, but there are only four of them. Their soldiers will fight, but what can they do against an army? When the time comes, you must dress yourself in these clothes, and I will try to conceal you."

"But I cannot do that, Yossouf," Will said. "It is very good of you to try and aid me to escape; but I am a soldier, and must share the fortunes of my officers, whatever they may be. If they fight, I shall fight. If they are killed, I must be killed, too. I cannot run away and hide myself, when the danger comes."

The lad hung his head.

"Then Yossouf will die, too," he said quietly. "He will not leave his white friend."

"No, no, Yossouf," Will said, warmly; "you have nothing to do with the business. Why should you involve yourself in our fate? You can do me no good by sacrificing your life."

Yossouf shook his head.

"If," he said presently, "the time comes, and you see that it is of no use any longer to fight, and that all is lost, would you try to escape then?"

"Yes," Will said, "certainly I would. When all hope of further resistance is gone, and fighting is useless, my duty would be at an end; and if I could manage to escape, then, I should be justified in trying to save my life."

Yossouf looked relieved.

"Very well." he said, "then, at the last, I will try and save you."

"Still, Yossouf," Will said, "we must hope that it is not coming to that. The Ameer has sworn to protect us, and he can do so. The Bala-Hissar is strong, and he can easily hold it, with one or two of his Cabul regiments, against the Heratee men. He has three or four of these regiments here. He cannot be so false to his oath as to allow his guests to be massacred."

Yossouf made a gesture which expressed his utter disbelief in the Ameer, and then again went about his duties.

On the 2nd of September, on his return from the town, he reported that there was great excitement among the people; and that he believed that the night would not pass off, without trouble. Major Cavagnari, to whom Will reported the news, sent in a message to the Ameer—whose palace was within two or three hundred yards—and begged him to take measures to secure the Bala-Hissar against any attack by the Heratees.

The members of the escort, available for the defense of the residency, were but about fifty men. Most of the cavalry were away. Some were down the pass with despatches. The rest were stationed a short distance off in the plain, as forage was difficult to obtain in the fort.

The Ameer returned a curt message to Major Cavagnari, saying that there was no cause for uneasiness. The latter, however, doubled the sentries at the gate of the little enclosure.

Just as the officers were about to retire to rest, Yossouf—who had, a short time, before gone out again, telling Will that he would bring back news of what was going on, ran in.

"The Heratees are coming," he said. "The gates of the fort have been left open. The Cabul men are all in their barracks. They are pouring in at the gates. Do you not hear them?"

William Gale ran to the window, and could hear a loud and confused noise of yelling and shouting. He ran in to the envoy's room, and warned him that the Heratees were at hand. Without the loss of a moment's time, Lieutenant Hamilton got his men under arms; and posted them at the upper windows of the house, where their fire would command the approaches to the gate.

Quickly as this was done, the Afghans were close at hand by the time that each man was at his post; and instantly opened a scattering fire at the residency, shouting to the soldiers to come out and join them, and to bring out the Kaffir officers to be killed. The Pathans were, however, true to their salt and, in reply, opened a steady fire upon the mass of the enemy. With wild yells the Afghans rushed at the gate but, so steadily and rapidly did the defenders shoot, from the upper windows and loopholes cut in the gate, that the assailants were forced to fall back.

"That's right, my lads," Major Cavagnari said cheerfully to his men; "we can hold the place for some time, and the Ameer will bring the Cabul regiments down in no time, and sweep away these rascals."

The Afghans, now some thousands strong—assisted by all the Budmashes, and turbulent portion of the population of Cabul—surrounded the house on all sides, and kept up a heavy and incessant fire; which was coolly and steadily returned by the Guides. After an hour's fighting, there was a sudden roar above the rattle of musketry; followed by another, and another. Simultaneously came the crash of shells. One burst in the house, the other tore through the gate. Still there was no sign of the Cabul regiments.

Eight or ten guns were brought to play on the little garrison. The gate was broken down, and nearly half the force of the house were already killed, or wounded, by the musketry and shell fire. Still they continued the defense Over and over again, the Afghans swarmed up close to the gate; only to fall back again, before the steady fire of the Snider rifles of the Guides. Major Cavagnari went from room to room, encouraging the men; while the other officers and Will Gale, taking rifles which had fallen from the hands of men no longer able to use them, set an example of cool and steady firing to their men.

For four hours the unequal contest continued; then a cry arose, from the men, that the house was on fire. It was but too true. A shell had exploded in the lower part of the house, and had ignited the woodwork; and the fire had already obtained so firm a hold that it was impossible to extinguish it. A few of the men continued their fire from the windows, to the last; while the rest carried their wounded comrades out into the courtyard. As the flames shot out from the lower windows, the yells of the Afghans rose higher and higher; and a fearful storm of lead and iron swept down upon the little band, who were now plainly visible in the light of the flames. Even now the enemy did not dare, although numbering hundreds to one, to come too close upon them, though they flocked up close to the gate.

"Now, lads!" Major Cavagnari exclaimed, "let us rush out, and die fighting hand to hand; better that than to be shot down defenseless, here."

Thus saying he led the way, and charged out upon the crowded foe. There were but Lieutenant Hamilton and eight men to follow him. All the rest had fallen. Doctor Kelly had been shot in the house, while dressing the wound of one of the soldiers. Mr. Jenkyns had fallen outside.

Will Gale had twice been wounded, but was still on his feet and, grasping his musket, he rushed forward with his comrades. A figure sprang out just as he reached the gate and, with a sudden rush, carried him along for some paces. Then he stumbled over a fragment of the wall, and fell just at the corner of the gate—which had swung inward, when burst open by the enemy's shell. Confused and bewildered, he struggled to regain his feet.

"Keep quiet, master!" Yossouf's voice said, in his ear. "It is your only chance of safety."

So saying, he dragged Will into the narrow space between the gate and the wall; then, as he rose to his feet, he wrapped round him a loose Afghan cloak, and pressed a black sheepskin cap far down over his face.

In a minute there was the sound of a fierce struggle, without. The shots of the revolvers of the two English officers rang out, in quick succession, mingled with the loud report of the Afghan muskets. The savage yells rose, high and triumphant. The last of the gallant band, who had for hours defended the embassy, had fallen. Then there was a rush through the gate, as the Afghans swarmed into the courtyard, till the space around the burning house was well-nigh full.

Unperceived, Will Gale and Yossouf stepped from behind the gate and joined the throng and, at once, made their way into the stables, where several of the Budmashes were already engaged in their work of plunder. Yossouf caught up three or four horse rugs, and made them into a loose bundle; and signed to Will to do the same. The young soldier did so, and lifted them on his shoulder, so as to partly hide his face. Then he followed Yossouf into the courtyard again.

Already there was a stream of men with saddles, rugs, muskets, and other plunder making their way out, while others were still thronging in. Joining the former, Will and his guide were soon outside the enclosure At any other time, his disguise would have been noticed, at once; but in the crowd his legs were hidden, and all were too intent upon plunder, and too excited at their success, to notice him.

Once outside the wall, he was comparatively safe. The light thrown over the courtyard, by the blazing house, made the darkness beyond all the more complete. Keeping carefully in shadow, Yossouf led him along to a clump of bushes, in a garden a hundred yards from the house. Stooping here, he pulled out a bundle.

"Here," he said, "is the uniform. Put it on, quickly!"

It was but the work of a minute for Will to attire himself in the uniform of the Afghan soldier. He had still retained the musket, which he had in his hand when Yossouf had leaped upon him; and as he now went on with his guide he had no fear, whatever, of being detected. He still carried the bundle of rugs on his shoulder.

As they walked round towards the lower gate of the Bala-Hissar, they met numbers of villagers and townspeople thronging in. These had waited to hear the issue of the attack before leaving their homes but, now that the arrival of the plunderers from the residency, and the cessation of the fire, told of the successful termination of the assault, they flocked up to join in the rejoicings over the annihilation of the Kaffirs.

CHAPTER 14: THE ADVANCE UPON CABUL.

Throughout the long hours of the night of the 2nd of September, while the roll of musketry and the roar of cannon had gone on, without a moment's pause, just outside the walls of his palace, Yakoob Khan had made no movement, whatever, to protect his guests or fulfil his own solemn promises. Silent and sullen, he had sat in his council chamber.

The disgrace of a broken promise is not one which weighs heavily upon an Afghan's mind, and it is not probable that the thought of his tarnished honor troubled him, in the slightest degree; but he knew that the massacre which was being perpetrated at his door would be avenged, and that the English troops, which had so easily beaten the army which his father had spent so many years in preparing, would be set in movement against Cabul the moment the news reached India. He cannot but have dreaded the consequences. But he apparently feared, even more, to incur the hostility of the Heratee regiment, by interfering to save their victims.

Again and again during the night, his wisest councilors besought him to call upon the loyal Cabullee regiments to act against the Heratees, but in vain. It is doubtful whether Yakoob was previously informed of the intended massacre, but there is strong reason to believe that he was so. The proofs, however, were not clear and definite. His conduct cost him his throne, and condemned him to remain to the end of his life a dishonored pensioner, and semi-prisoner, in India.

Many eager questions were asked of Will and his companion, as they made their way down to the gate of the Bala-Hissar. Yossouf took upon himself to answer them, and they passed through the gate without the slightest suspicion.

"Which way now?"

"I think it will be safest to go into the city. We might lie hid for a few days in some deserted hut but, sooner or later, our presence there would excite comment. It will be best, I think, to go into the city. In the quarters of the Parsee merchants there are assuredly some who would give you shelter. Domajee—who was the contractor for the supply of the mission—would, I should think, be best to go to. There is little danger, for none will suspect your presence there. His servants are all Hindoos."

"That is the best place, Yossouf. I have been down several times to Domajee, and he is certainly devoted to the English. We can but try him."

The first dawn of morning was breaking, when Will and his faithful friend arrived at the door of the Parsee trader, in the Hindoo quarter of Cabul. The doors were fastened and barred, for it was impossible to say whether the attack upon the mission—which had been heard going on, all night—might not be followed by a fanatic outbreak against the Hindoo and Parsee traders, in the Hindoo quarter. Therefore, there was little sleep that night.

Yossouf knocked gently at the door.

"Who is there?" a voice at once inquired, from within.

"I come on urgent business with Domajee," Yossouf replied. "Open quickly, there are but two of us here."

There was a slight pause, and then the door was opened; and closed, immediately the two visitors had entered. A light was burning in the large anteroom, as they entered it; and several Hindoos—who had been lying, wrapped up in cloths, on the floor—rose to their feet to inspect the newcomers. A moment later the trader, himself, came down the stairs from an apartment above.

"What is it?" he asked.

He did not pause for an answer. The light from the lamp he carried fell upon Will's face, now white as a sheet from loss of blood. With the one word, "Follow," the Parsee turned on his heel, and led the way upstairs.

"Has the mission been captured?" he asked, as they entered an empty room.

"Yes," Will replied, "and I believe that I am the only survivor."

The fatigue of climbing the stairs completed the work caused by prolonged excitement and loss of blood and, as he spoke, he tottered; and would have fallen had not Yossouf seized him and, with the assistance of the Parsee, laid him on a couch. In a few words, Yossouf informed the trader of what had happened; and satisfied him that no suspicion could arise, of the presence of one of the British in his house. As the residency had been burnt down, and the bodies of those who had fallen within it consumed, no one would suspect that one of the five Englishmen there had effected his escape; and it would be supposed that Will's body, like that of Doctor Kelly, had been consumed in the flames.

The Parsee was sure that Cabul would soon be reoccupied by the British and—putting aside his loyalty to them—he felt that his concealment of an English survivor of the massacre would be greatly to his advantage, and would secure for him the custom of the English, upon their arrival at the town.

He first descended the stairs; and warned his Hindoo followers, on no account, whatever, to breathe a word of the entry of strangers there. Then he again returned to the room, where Yossouf was sprinkling water on Will's face, and was endeavoring to recover him to consciousness.

"There is blood on the couch," the trader said. "He is wounded, and is suffering from its loss. See! The sleeve of his coat is soaked with blood, but I see no mark on the cloth."

"No," Yossouf replied; "he has put on that uniform since the fight."

"Go downstairs," the trader said; "my wife and daughter will see to him."

As soon as Yossouf left the room, Domajee's wife and daughter entered, with many exclamations of surprise and alarm. They were at once silenced by the trader, who bid them cut off the wounded man's uniform, and stanch his wounds.

Will had been hit in two places. One ball had passed through the left arm, fortunately without injuring the bone. The other had struck him in the side, had run round his ribs and gone out behind, inflicting an ugly-looking but not serious wound—its course being marked by a blue line on the flesh, behind the two holes of entry and exit.

The wounds were washed and bound up, some cordial was poured between his lips and, ere long, he opened his eyes and looked round, in bewilderment.

"You are safe, and among friends," the Parsee said. "Drink a little more of the cordial, and then go off quietly to sleep. You need have no fear of being discovered, and your friends will be here, ere long."

Four of the Hindoo servants now, at the order of the trader, came upstairs and, lifting the couch, carried Will to a cool and airy chamber, in the upper story of the house. Here a soft bed of rugs and mattresses was prepared, and Will was soon in a quiet sleep, with Yossouf watching by his side.

It was but twenty-four hours after the massacre that a well-mounted native, from Cabul, brought the news over the Shatur-Gardan Pass into the Khurum valley. Thence it was telegraphed to Simla and, in a few hours, all India rang with it. Not an instant was lost in making preparations for avenging the murder of the British mission. On the same day, orders were sent to Brigadier General Massy—at that time commanding the field force in the Khurum valley—to move the 23rd Punjaub Pioneers, the 5th Ghoorkas, and a mountain battery to the crest of the Shatur-Gardan Pass, and to entrench themselves there.

A day or two later, the 72nd Highlanders and the 5th Punjaub Infantry ascended the Peiwar-Khotal, to Ali-Kheyl, to secure the road between the Khotal and the pass. The 72nd then moved forward, and joined the 23rd Pioneers and 5th Ghoorkas on the Shatur-Gardan; and on the 13th General Baker arrived there, and took the command, but some time was needed before the advance could commence.

As is usual with the British, the great transport train—which had, with such pains, been collected and organized for the war—had been dispersed, immediately peace was signed; and the whole work had now to be recommenced. Vast numbers of animals had been used up, during the campaign; and there was the greatest difficulty in obtaining the minimum number which was required before the troops could move. At last, General Roberts managed to collect, in the Punjaub, 2000 mules and 700 camels and bullocks. The tribes in the Khurum valley, too—who had been kindly treated, and were well satisfied with the change of masters—furnished many animals for the transport of stores, as far as the Shatur-Gardan.

The news had thrown the Gilgis, and other tribes among the mountains beyond the Peiwar-Khotal, into a state of ferment; and several determined attacks were made, by them, upon convoys on their way up to the head of the pass. These, however, were always successfully repulsed by the baggage guards, with considerable loss to the assailants and, on the 26th September—three weeks from the date of the massacre—General Roberts joined the troops at Ali-Kheyl, and moved forward to the Shatur-Gardan.

During this time two or three letters had been received from the Ameer, who wrote to General Roberts deprecating any advance of the British troops, and saying that he was trying to restore order, to put down the mutinous Heratee troops, and to punish them for their conduct. As, however, the details which had been received of the massacre showed that the Ameer had behaved in a most suspicious—if not in a most treacherous—manner, at the time of the massacre; and that if he possessed any authority, whatever, over the troops, he had not attempted to exercise it, no attention was paid to his letters.

The advanced party of the invading force moved down from the Shatur-Gardan Pass. It consisted of the 12th and 14th Bengal Cavalry, two guns of the Royal Horse Artillery, two companies of the 72nd Highlanders, and the 5th Punjaub Native Infantry. The road was found to be extremely steep and difficult, and much labor was necessary before it could be made practicable for guns and wheeled carriages. No enemy was encountered, and the little force encamped at night in the Logan valley; over which the cavalry skirmished, far ahead, but found no foes awaiting them.

On the following day they made another march forward, the brigades of Generals Baker and Macpherson from the pass into the valley. The advance force halted at Zerghun-Shah and, soon after they had done so, some of the cavalry rode in, with the surprising news that the Ameer was close at hand.

Half an hour later Yakoob Khan, attended by some of his principal nobles, rode into camp. He was received with the honor due to his rank but, personally, General Roberts greeted him with great coldness. The Ameer stated that he came into camp because he could not control the soldiery of Cabul; and that, therefore, he had left the place and come in, to show his friendship for the English. Whatever may have been the motives for his coming, they were never fully explained. Circumstances which afterwards occurred strongly confirmed the suspicion that he meditated treachery.

He was treated honorably; but the guard of honor which was assigned to him was, in fact, a guard over him and, from that time, he was virtually a prisoner. General Roberts declined, altogether, to discuss with him the events of the massacre of Cabul; saying that this was a matter which could not now be entered into, but would be fully investigated on the arrival at the Afghan capital.

The following day, the brigades of Generals Baker and Macpherson joined the advance at Zerghun-Shah. The amount of transport available was only sufficient for half the baggage of the army; and it was necessary, therefore, to move forward in two divisions—the one advancing a day's march, and then halting; while the animals went back to bring up the baggage of the second division, on the following day.

A proclamation was now issued by the general, and sent forward among the people of the valley; saying that the object of the expedition was only to punish those concerned in the massacre at Cabul, and that all loyal subjects of the Ameer would be well treated.

On the 3rd of October Macpherson's brigade, with the cavalry, reached Suffed-Sang. Here they halted, while the baggage animals went back to bring up General Baker's brigade. The attitude of the people of the valley had now become very threatening. Great numbers of hill tribesmen had come down; and on this day an attack was made upon the rear guard, but was beaten off with loss.

That the natives were bitterly hostile was undoubted; but they were, for the most part, waiting to see the result of the approaching fight. The Heratee and Cabul regiments were confident that they would defeat the approaching column. They had a great advantage in numbers, had been drilled in European fashion, were armed with Enfields, and had an enormous park of artillery at their disposal. They were able to choose their own fighting ground, and had selected a spot which gave them an immense advantage. They were, therefore, confident of victory.

Had the British troops been beaten, the inhabitants of the Logan valley were prepared to rise, to a man. The Ghilzais and other hill tribes would have swept down upon the line of retreat; and few, if any, of the British force would have returned to tell the tale.

The next day Baker's division had the post of honor, and made a short march to Chaurasia. Beyond this village, the enemy had taken up their position. Three miles beyond the village the valley ends—a mass of hills shutting it in, with only a narrow defile leading, through them, to the plain of Cabul beyond. Upon both sides of the defile the enemy had placed guns in position, and lined the whole circle of the hills commanding the approach to it.

Mountaineers from their birth, they believed that—although the British infantry might possess a superiority in the plain—they could be no match for them on the steep hillside; and they no doubt thought that no attempt would be made to storm so strong a position, but that the British column would march straight up the valley into the defile, where they would be helplessly slaughtered by the guns and matchlock men on the heights.

Judging from their own tactics, they had reason for the belief that their position was an impregnable one. In their hill fights the Afghans never come to close quarters. Posted behind rocks and huge boulders, the opposing sides keep up a distant musketry duel—lasting, sometimes, for days—until one side or the other becomes disheartened with its losses, or has exhausted its ammunition. Then it falls back, and the other claims the victory. The idea that English soldiers would, under a heavy fire from their concealed force, steadily climb up the broken mountainside, and come to close quarters, probably never entered into their calculations.

At daybreak on the 6th, a working party were sent forward to improve the road towards the defile. But they had scarcely started when the cavalry patrol in advance rode in, and announced that the enemy were in great strength on the hills, and had guns in position to command the road.

General Roberts had now a choice of two courses—he could either attack the whole Afghan force, with the one division at hand; or he could wait until joined by Macpherson's brigade, next morning. The feat of carrying such a position in face of an immensely superior force, with only half of his little command, was a very serious one but, upon the other hand, every hour added to the number of hillmen who swarmed upon the flanks of the army, just beyond musket range. A delay of twenty-four hours would bring the whole fighting force of the tribesmen into the valley and, while attacking the enemy's position in the front, he would be liable to an assault upon his rear, by them.

Confident in the valor of his soldiers, he chose the first alternative and, at eleven o'clock, his little force marched out from the camp to attack the Afghan army. By this time the enemy's position had been reconnoitered, and it was found to be too strong for a direct attack. It was therefore resolved to ascend the hills on both flanks, and so to drive their defenders back beyond the defile. This, in any case, would have been the best mode of assault; but against semi-savage enemies, flank attacks are peculiarly effective. Having prepared for an assault in one direction, they are disconcerted and disheartened by finding themselves attacked in a different manner; and the fear of a flank being turned, and the line of retreat thereby menaced, will generally suffice to cause a rapid retreat.

General Baker, himself, took the command of the left attack. His force consisted of four guns of Number 2 Mountain Battery, two Gatling guns, the 7th company of Sappers and Miners, a wing of the 72nd Highlanders, six companies of the 5th Ghoorkas, 200 men of the 5th Punjaub Infantry, and 450 of the 23rd Pioneers. This was the main column of attack.

The right column—under the command of Major White, of the 72nd Highlanders—consisted of a wing of that regiment, 100 men of the 23rd Pioneers, three guns of the Royal Artillery, and two squadrons of cavalry. This attack was intended only as a feint, and to distract the attention of the Afghans from the main attack. A strong reserve was left in Chaurasia, to guard the baggage and to overawe the tribesmen.

As General Baker's column reached the foot of the hills, the 23rd—who led the advance, thrown out in skirmishing line—began to climb the ascent. The enemy were armed with Sniders and Enfields, and their fire was rapid and continuous; fortunately it was by no means accurate, and our losses were small. The Afghans, in their hill fighting, are accustomed to fire very slowly and deliberately—taking steady aim, with their guns resting on the rocks—and, so fighting, they are excellent shots. It is probable, however, that the steady advance of our men towards them flurried and disconcerted them; and that they thought more of firing quickly, than of taking a correct aim.

The 72nd, pressing up the hill, were assisted by the fire of the mountain guns and Gatlings, and by that of the Punjaubees in their rear. Gradually the upper slopes of the hills were gained; and the British troops, pressing forward, drove the Afghans back along the crest. Several times they made obstinate stands, holding their ground until the 72nd were close to them.

These, however, would not be denied. The massacre of the mission at Cabul had infuriated the soldiers, and each man was animated with a stern determination to avenge our murdered countrymen. For an hour and a half the fight continued; and then the Afghans abandoned the ridge, and fled in confusion. They rallied upon some low hills, 600 yards from the rear; but the mountain guns and Gatlings opened upon them and, the whole line advancing to the attack, the enemy fell back.

Major White's column had been doing excellent service, on the right. Although the attack had been intended only as a feint, it was pushed forward so vigorously that it met with a success equal to that which had attended the main column, on the left. The enemy were driven off the hills on the right of the defile. Twenty guns were captured, and the direct road cleared of the enemy.

Unfortunately, our cavalry was in the rear. The road through the pass was difficult and, before they could get through into the plain on the other side, the masses of Afghans had fallen back into the strong villages scattered over it; and could not be attacked by cavalry, alone. The enemy had from 9000 to 10,000 men upon the ridge, including thirteen regiments of regular troops. They left 300 dead upon the field and, besides these, carried off large numbers of killed and wounded, during the night. Upon our side only 20 were killed, and 67 wounded.

Had General Roberts had his whole force with him, he could—after capturing the hills—have at once pushed forward, and have attacked the enemy on the plain; and the Afghans, disheartened and panic stricken, would have been completely crushed. With so small a force in hand, and the possibility of a serious attack by the tribes on his rear, General Roberts did not think it prudent to advance farther; and the regiments which had taken the principal part in the massacre of Cabul marched away, unmolested.

Enormously superior as they still were in numbers, they had no thought of further resistance. The capture of positions which they deemed impregnable, by a force so inferior in number to their own, had utterly disheartened them; and the Heratee regiments which, but the day before, had been so proudly confident of their ability to exterminate the Kaffirs, were now utterly demoralized and panic stricken. In the night the whole of the Afghan troops scattered, and fled. Our cavalry—under General Massy—swept along the plain of Cabul and, skirting the town, kept on as far as the Ameer's great entrenched camp at Sherpur, three miles further along the valley. Here 75 guns were captured.

In the morning, Macpherson arrived. General Roberts now advanced with his whole force of infantry, and found that he had no longer a foe before him. The Afghan army had disappeared.

There was no longer any occasion for haste, and the column halted until all the baggage had been brought up through the difficult defile. The total defeat of the Afghan army had overawed the tribesmen, and these at once retired to their hills again. The villagers, however, were bitterly hostile; and seized every opportunity of firing at small bodies of troops, on cavalry patrols. This continued for some time; and General Roberts, at last, was obliged to punish it with severity and, in such cases, all found with arms in their hands were at once shot.

On the 11th of October Sir Frederick Roberts and his staff, with a cavalry escort, rode into the Bala-Hissar and, the next morning, the British troops marched into the fort. The gates of Cabul stood open, and a column was marched through the town, and formal possession taken of it.

During the first five weeks which elapsed, after the massacre of the mission, William Gale remained almost prostrate in the house of the friendly Parsee trader. He had barely recovered his strength, after his prolonged illness, when the attack was made; and the events of that night, and the great loss of blood which he had suffered, had reduced his strength to that of an infant. Under the care of the Parsee and his family, however, he slowly but steadily regained strength.

For the first month, but little news reached him from without. Then a report came that the British had assembled, in considerable force, on the crest of the Shatur-Gardan; and were going to move on Cabul from that direction. Then, day by day, the tidings came in of the advance of the force. It was reported, generally, that the Ameer had gone out to meet them; with the intention of leaving them, when the decisive moment, arrived and taking command of the tribesmen, who would fall upon and annihilate them.

On the 6th the town was unusually quiet, and Will heard that the Afghan army had moved out, to occupy the hills commanding the approach through the defile; and that, with the aid of the tribesmen, the British army was to be exterminated there.

CHAPTER 15: THE FIGHTING ROUND CABUL.

All day long, on the 6th of October, William Gale sat at an open window in the upper story of the Parsee's house—facing west—and listened to the distant roar of the battle; while all Cabul was in a state of wild excitement, in the sure anticipation of victory. Will felt equally confident as to the result of the battle. He knew that—well led—a British force could be trusted to carry any position held by the Afghans; and he felt sure that, even should he fail to carry it by direct attack, the English general would, sooner or later, succeed in turning it by flank movements.

About two o'clock in the afternoon, William noticed a change in the character of the sounds in the town. In the Hindoo quarter all had been quiet—for the inhabitants greatly feared that, in a burst of fanaticism following a victory achieved over the British, the Afghans might sack the Hindoo quarter, and murder its inhabitants. Yossouf, however, had been all the morning out in the town; and had, from time to time, brought in a report of the rumors current there.

At first it was said that the British were being utterly routed, that they were being exterminated by the Afghan fire, that the hill tribes were sweeping down upon their rear, and that not a man would escape. Presently the reports became more contradictory. The firing was still heard, but it was no longer one continuous roll. Some said that the British were annihilated; others that, repulsed in their attack, they had fallen back to their camp but, soon after two o'clock, Yossouf rushed up to William's room with the news that the Afghans had been driven from the heights, and that the British were in possession of these, and of the defile through them.

Yossouf had, throughout the morning, been swayed by conflicting emotions and wishes. At one moment he hoped that his countrymen might conquer; then the fear that, after victory, the Hindoo quarter might be sacked, and his English friend discovered and killed, overpowered his feeling of patriotism.

It must be remembered that Afghanistan has, for centuries, been rather a geographical expression than a country. Its population is composed of a great number of tribes, without any common feelings or interest, and often engaged in desperate wars and conflicts with each other. The two leading tribes—the Ghilzais and Duranees—had long struggled for ascendency in the cultivated portion of the country. For a long period the Ghilzais had had the supremacy, but the Duranees were now lords of the country.

The mountain tribes, for the most part, held themselves entirely independent; and although, in time, they gave a nominal allegiance to the Ameer of Cabul, yet—as had been shown in the Khurum valley—they hated their native masters, with an animosity far exceeding that which they felt towards the British. That throughout the war the tribesmen were ready, when they saw an opportunity to attack English convoys and small columns, is true; but they were animated by a love of plunder, rather than of country and, over a considerable area of Afghanistan—notably at Candahar—the people, in general, would have infinitely preferred the mild and just rule of the English, to the military tyranny of Cabul.

Thus, Yossouf had grown up without understanding the meaning of the feeling which we call patriotism. He had, it is true, been taught to hate the unbelievers; but this feeling had disappeared, on his acquaintance with Will Gale, and he now ranked the safety and happiness of his friend far before any national consideration. How weak is the feeling of patriotism, among the Afghans, is shown by the fact that most of the British frontier troops consist of Afghan hillmen; who are always ready, when called upon, to fight desperately against their countrymen and co-religionists. Examples of treachery, such as that exhibited by the two Pathans who fired their guns, to warn their countrymen of the British advance up the Spingawi Pass, are almost unknown.

It was, then, with a feeling of joy that Yossouf related, to his English friends, the news of the defeat of the Afghan army. Throughout the Hindoo quarter there was deep, but suppressed, gladness at the news of the British victory; and this increased when, as the night went on, it was known that the Afghan army was totally dispersed, that the troops remaining in Cabul had fled, and that the city was virtually open for the entrance of the English.

When, on the 12th—with bands playing, and colors displayed—the British troops marched through Cabul, Will would fain have gone out and joined his countrymen. But the Parsee pointed out, to him, that this would draw the attention of the Afghans to the fact that he had been concealed by him; and that in case, at any time, the British should evacuate Cabul and return to India, he would be a marked man for the vengeance of the Afghans. Will therefore wrapped up in a long cloak and, accompanied by Yossouf and the Parsee, left the house after dark and, proceeding to the gate, walked out to the Bala-Hissar.

Explaining who he was, Will was soon passed through the sentries which had been set, at nightfall; and was conducted to the quarters of the general. The latter was greatly surprised when he was told that an English soldier, who had been present at the attack upon the mission, wished to speak to him; and at once ordered Will to be brought before him. Great was his surprise when he learned, from the young soldier, that he had fought under him at the taking of Peiwar-Khotal and, having been made prisoner near Ali-Kheyl, had been brought to Cabul; and had joined the party of Sir Lewis Cavagnari, on its arrival at that city. Still more that, having been in the residency when the attack upon it was commenced by the Heratee soldiery, he had managed to escape from the massacre of that night.

After having first heard a complete outline of Will's story, the general called in several of his staff—who had just finished dinner—and then requested Will to give a full and detailed description of his adventures. After he had concluded, Yossouf and the Parsee were called in, and the general warmly expressed his gratification at the kindness that they had shown to a wounded English soldier, at the risk of their lives. He ordered that a handsome present should be made to Yossouf, and told the Parsee to call again in the morning, when the quartermaster general would be told to arrange, with him, for the supply of such articles as the country afforded for the use of the troops.

"Your regiment," he said to Will, "is, at present, at Jellalabad. Whether it will come up here I do not yet know but, in the meantime, you will be promoted to the rank of sergeant—which is the least we can do, after what you have gone through—and you will take your place with my staff orderly sergeants."

He then sent for one of the sergeants and gave Will into his charge, telling him he would speak further with him, when he had arranged the pressing business which the occupation of Cabul entailed upon him.

Yossouf remained with Will, being—at his urgent request—placed upon the roll as a native follower, of whom a considerable number accompany each regiment in India. His duties were but nominal for, when Will's story was well known, Yossouf became a most popular character among the sergeants of the staff. The money which he had received—in the first place from the Ameer, and now from General Roberts—would secure his future. In Afghanistan animals are cheap; and the owner of a small herd of oxen, sheep, or even goats is regarded by his neighbors as a wealthy man. Therefore Yossouf would, on the departure of the British, be able to settle down in a position of comparative affluence.

Two days later General Roberts, being one evening disengaged, sent for William Gale. He had been much struck with the bearing and manner of the young soldier, and now requested him to give him a full history of his antecedents.

"You have had a curious and eventful history," he said, when the young sergeant had finished, "and appear to have conducted yourself with great discretion, readiness, and courage. From what you tell me of your conversation with Colonel Shepherd, I have no doubt that he formed the same impression that I do, from your manner and appearance—that you are of a respectable, if not of good family—and I trust that you will some day discover a clue to your parents. It seems to me that, had the authorities of the place where you were left properly bestirred themselves, they ought to have been able to find out who you are.

"However, that is not to the point, now. It is sufficient for me that, from your manner and address, you would not be out of place in any position. I shall, of course, report the fact of your having fought by Major Cavagnari's side, in the attack upon him here; and shall strongly recommend that a commission be granted you. I am sure that, from your conduct hitherto, you will never do discredit to any position in which you may find yourself.

"Say nothing to your fellow sergeants of what I have told you. It is possible—although not probable—that my recommendation may not be acted upon and, at any rate, some months must elapse before an answer can be received."

William Gale returned to his quarters in a state of extreme delight. The communication which General Roberts had made to him was altogether beyond his hopes. He had, indeed, from the very day that he enlisted, often hoped that, some time or other, he might win for himself a commission; and take his place in the rank to which he had, from his childhood, believed that he was, by birth, entitled. The words and manner of his colonel had encouraged this hope, but he had never dreamed that his promotion might be attained so soon. It was but a year since he had enlisted, and five was the very earliest at which he had even dreamed that a commission might possibly be gained.

The next day he had been sent from the orderly room with a note to the colonel of the 67th, which was the regiment now in quarters in the Bala-Hissar; the rest of the force being encamped in the plain, below. As he was walking across the open, he was suddenly hurled to the ground with tremendous violence and, at the same moment, a roar as loud as that of thunder sounded in his ears. Bewildered and half stunned, he rose to his feet; while showers of stones, beams, and other debris fell around him.

One of the gunpowder magazines had exploded. It had been known that very large quantities of powder were stored in various buildings at the Bala-Hissar and, at the moment of the explosion, a body of engineers, under Captain Shafto, were examining the buildings in which it was stored, and making preparation for the removal of the powder. Singularly enough, no soldiers of the 67th were killed but, of the Ghoorkas, who were on guard at the arsenal at the time, twelve were killed and seven wounded. Shafto was, unfortunately, killed.

The 67th were at once called out, and set to work to extinguish the flames which had been kindled by the explosion—great damage being done. The southern wall of the arsenal had been blown down, and several buildings set on fire. Explosion followed explosion, and the work of extinguishing the flames was an extremely dangerous one.

In the afternoon another magazine blew up. Fortunately, no troops were in its neighborhood at the time; but four Afghans were killed, and several soldiers hurt, at a distance of three or four hundred yards from the spot. Although it was never proved, it was strongly believed that these explosions were caused by the Afghans and—as large quantities of powder still remained in the Bala-Hissar—it was determined that, for the present, the place should be evacuated. The general therefore, with his staff and the regiment in garrison, left the place and joined the camp in the plain.

The little force at Cabul was now isolated. Troops were slowly coming up the Khyber Pass to Jellalabad; where a division was to be formed, destined in the spring to join the force at Cabul, should it be necessary to carry on further operations.

Between Cabul and the Shatur-Gardan the natives were in a restless and excited state. Two attacks, by 3000 men, had been made on the garrison holding the crest of the latter position—three hundred in number. These bravely sallied out, attacked the enemy in the open, and killed large numbers of them. Still, great numbers of the tribesmen were gathered round; and General Gough, with the 5th Punjaubee Cavalry, the 5th Punjaubee Infantry, and four guns, was therefore sent from Cabul to bring down, from the Shatur-Gardan, the garrison and all the stores accumulated there. The pass, which would shortly be closed by snow, was then to be deserted.

Several executions now took place, at Cabul, of men who were proved to have shared in the attack on the embassy. Some of the leading men of the place, who had instigated the troops to the attack, were among those executed. Many of the villagers were also hung, for shooting at detached bodies of our troops. A proclamation had been issued by the general, on his first arrival, warning the people that any attempt against our authority would be severely punished; forbidding the carrying of weapons within the streets of Cabul, or within a distance of five miles of the city gates; and offering a reward for all arms belonging to the Afghan troops which should be given up, and for the surrender of any person, whether soldier or civilian, concerned in the attack on the embassy.

The position of the British force, at Cabul, was that of a body holding only the ground they occupied, in the midst of a bitterly hostile country. The Ameer was powerless and, indeed, his goodwill was more than doubtful. He had, from his arrival in the camp, been regarded as a prisoner—although treated with courtesy—and after the battle of Chaurasia—feeling his own impotence, and being viewed with hostility by both parties—he resigned his position as Ameer, and asked to be sent to India, which was done. The abdication of the Ameer really took place on the day the troops entered Cabul, but it was not publicly known until the end of the month; as nothing could be done, on the subject, until his desire was communicated to the Indian authorities, and their views concerning it ascertained.

From the moment of his arrival at Cabul, General Roberts had set to work to prepare for the winter. He would, for four or five months, be entirely cut off; and would have to rely upon himself, alone. He had before him the terrible catastrophe which had, on the same ground, befallen General Elphinstone's army; and knew that it was possible—and indeed probable—that, with the memory of that success before them, the Afghans would unite in another great effort to annihilate the little force shut up in the heart of their country.

Fortunately he had, in the Ameer's barracks at Sherpur, a position which he was confident he could hold against any attacks that could be made upon him. These extensive barracks had been erected by Sheer-Ali for the use of his cavalry, but had never been used. They consisted of a large square, three sides of which were surrounded by a lofty wall—an isolated and rocky, steep hill rising at the back, and closing the fourth side. The buildings were amply large enough to contain the whole of General Roberts' force; and there was abundant room for the stores, baggage animals, and wagons.

The only fault was, indeed, that the extent of wall to be defended was too long for the force at his disposal. Round two sides the outer wall was complete but, on the third, it had not been taken to its full height, nor had it been continued so as to join the hill behind it.

Great efforts were made to bring in sufficient provisions and forage for the winter; and expeditions were made up the Logan, Maidan, and other valleys for the purpose. Winter was fast setting in. Snow had begun to fall upon the hills, and ice formed on the pools, every night. The natives of the valleys near were ready enough to sell their grain, straw, and fuel; but few supplies came in from a distance, as armed bands stopped all supplies on their way. However, a sufficient amount of food and fuel was obtained, and stored in Sherpur. Grain, too, was procured for the winter; and the only article of which the supply was insufficient was chopped straw, of which a very large quantity was required.

The attitude of the natives grew daily more hostile. Their priests were preaching a revolt to the death, and recalling to the people how their fathers had annihilated a British force, thirty years before. Urged alike by fanaticism and a desire for plunder, the natives over the whole country were seething with excitement; and General Roberts saw that a crisis was approaching. The Afghans could assemble at least 100,000 men; and among these would be included all the troops of the Ameer's disbanded armies, armed with weapons equal to our own, and burning to revenge the defeats which had been inflicted upon them. To oppose them the English general had less than 6000 men.

But though prepared for trouble, the storm, when it came, burst suddenly upon the English. The enemy were known to be collecting in great numbers, in the Maidan valley, and two columns were sent out to attack them. One was commanded by Macpherson, the other by Baker. Although they were to strike simultaneously at the enemy, their route of march lay up different valleys—with a lofty mountain range between them—so they could in no way cooperate with each other. After they had started, General Massy was directed to move out, with a small force of cavalry and a battery of horse artillery, and cooperate with General Macpherson.

An hour after the cavalry had started General Roberts, himself, rode out. He was accompanied by his usual escort, and by two mounted orderly sergeants. One of these was William Gale. They had only proceeded a short distance when they heard, some distance ahead of them, the guns of the Royal Horse Artillery—with Massy—at work; and the general at once rode forward, at a gallop.

General Macpherson had found Mahomed Jan—one of the principal leaders of the Afghans—with 10,000 men, near Chardeh. A fight ensued. The guns shelled the enemy, but the water courses prevented the cavalry with Macpherson acting; and Mahomed Jan, moving across the hills, placed himself between Macpherson and Cabul. Shortly afterwards General Massy—who had with him three troops of the 9th Lancers, and forty-four men of the 14th Bengal Lancers, with four guns under Major Smith-Wyndham—came in sight of a portion of Mahomed Jan's force. It was clear that these had, in some way, interposed themselves between the little force and Macpherson's column; and Massy supposed that they were a party of fugitives, flying before the force of Macpherson or Baker.

As they came streaming down the hill, he got his guns into action. After a few shells had been fired, the enemy advanced in full force. Four thousand men were extended in the shape of a crescent, advancing in fairly good order; while behind was an irregular mob, of some six thousand men.

The ground upon which General Massy found himself, at this time, was singularly unfitted for the action of artillery. It was cut up by deep water courses, and anything like rapidity of movement was impossible. It would have been prudent had Massy—when he saw how large was the force opposed to him—at once retired, until he came to ground where his guns could be rapidly maneuvered but, relying upon the effect of the shell, he remained in the position in which he had first discovered the enemy. The shell pitched rapidly into the thick of the Afghans, but no effect was produced in checking their advance. They did not waver for a moment, but came steadily on. The enemy's bullets were now dropping fast among the cavalry and guns. Thirty of the 9th Lancers were dismounted, and opened fire with their Martini carbines; but the enemy were too numerous to be checked by so small a body of men.

At this moment, Sir Frederick Roberts arrived upon the spot. The position was serious and, to retire the guns in safety, it was absolutely necessary to check the advance of the enemy. General Roberts therefore ordered Massy to send his cavalry at the enemy. Colonel Cleland led a squadron of the 9th full at the advancing mass, the Bengal Lancers following; while Captain Gough, with his troop of the 9th, charged the enemy's left flank—but even the charge of Balaclava was scarcely more desperate than this. Two hundred and twenty men, however gallant, could not be expected to conquer 10,000.

The three bodies of cavalry charged, at full speed, into the midst of the enemy's infantry; who received them with a terrible fire, which killed many horses and men. The impetus of the charge bore down the leading ranks of the Afghans, and the cavalry tore their way through the mass, until their progress was blocked by sheer weight of numbers. A desperate melee took place—the troopers fighting with their sabers, the Afghans with knives, and clubbed muskets. Many of the soldiers were struck from their horses. Some were dragged to their feet again, by their comrades; others were killed upon the ground.

The chaplain of the force—the Reverend Mr. Adams—had accompanied the troopers in the charge and, seeing a man jammed under a fallen horse, he leaped from his saddle and extricated him; and brought him off, in spite of the attack of several Afghans. For this act of bravery he received the Victoria Cross, being the first chaplain in the army who had ever obtained that decoration.

When the dust raised by the charging squadrons had subsided, it was seen that the enemy were still advancing. The Lancers had fallen back and, as the men galloped in, they rallied behind Captain Gough's troop; which had kept best together, and had formed up again between the guns and the enemy. Lieutenants Hersee and Ricardo, and sixteen of their men, had been left dead upon the ground. Colonel Cleland, Lieutenant Mackenzie, and seven of the troopers were wounded. A second charge was ordered; but this time it was not pushed home, as a wide water course checked the advance.

Under cover of the first cavalry charge, Major Smith-Wyndham had ordered two of the guns to be taken off and, as he now fell back with the other two, one of them stuck in the water course. The greatest efforts were made, with the horses which still remained uninjured, to get the gun out; but the enemy were pressing close on. Lieutenant Hardy was killed, by a shot through the head, and the gun was abandoned. The other three guns were retired 400 or 500 yards farther; but here they became hopelessly bogged in a channel, deeper than any that had hitherto been met with. They were spiked, and left in the water; and the drivers and gunners moved off with the cavalry, just as the enemy poured down upon them.

Seeing the danger of the situation, and the large force of the enemy, General Roberts had, on his first arrival, sent off a trooper at full gallop to General Gough—who commanded at Sherpur—ordering him to send out two hundred men of the 72nd Highlanders, at the double, to hold the gorge leading direct from the scene of conflict to Cabul. There was but a very small garrison of British troops in the city and, had the enemy made their way there, the townspeople would have risen, and a serious disaster taken place.

After leaving the guns behind them, the cavalry retired steadily towards the village at the head of the gorge; keeping up a hot fire, with their carbines, on the enemy who pressed upon them.

"Ride back, Sergeant Gale," the general said, "and meet the 72nd. Hurry them up at full speed—every minute is precious."

William Gale rode back at full speed. Until a fortnight before, he had never been on a horse; but the animal which he rode was well trained and steady and, hitherto, he had had no difficulty in keeping his seat, as he trotted along with the escort. It was a different thing, now; for the ground was rough, and the horse going at a full gallop, and he clung on to the pummel of the saddle, to steady himself. As he passed through the village, he saw the Highlanders coming along at a trot, half a mile further on; and was soon beside Colonel Brownlow, who commanded them.

"The enemy are pressing the cavalry back, sir," he said as, with difficulty, he pulled up his horse. "The general desires you to use the greatest possible speed, as every moment is precious."

Panting and out of breath as the Highlanders were, they responded to Colonel Brownlow's shout and, rushing forward almost at racing speed, reached the village while the Afghans were still 100 yards beyond it. They instantly opened such a fire upon the enemy that the latter ceased their advance, and soon fell back; and Cabul was, for the moment, safe.

CHAPTER 16: THE FIGHT IN THE PASS.

The Afghan force, after half an hour's effort to carry the village held by the Highlanders, moved off to their left and, working along the hills, took post on the heights beyond Bala-Hissar. In the meantime General Macpherson, having dispersed a strong body of the enemy up the valley, marched back towards Cabul and, coming across the scene of the late action, brought in the bodies of the dead officers. The guns had already been carried off for, as the enemy advanced, Colonel Macgregor—collecting a handful of lancers and artillery men—worked round to their rear and—dispersing a small body of the enemy, who had lingered at a village near the guns—succeeded in extricating the cannon from the swamp, and carried them off to Sherpur.

From the signal post established above Bala-Hissar, an order was flashed to General Baker—who was many miles away—to inform him of what had occurred, and to order him to march back, with all speed. Late that evening he arrived, with his column; and the British force was again united.

The next day, 560 men of Macpherson's brigade—composed of portions of the 67th, the 72nd, the 3rd Sikhs, and 5th Ghoorkas—were sent out to attack the enemy; who had established themselves upon a lofty peak, south of Cabul. The Afghans occupied the crest in strength and, hidden behind the hill, had 5000 or 6000 men lying in wait, to attack the assailing party in the rear as they pressed upwards.

The position was, however, too strong to be carried. After several hours of fighting, the little British force had driven the Afghans from the lower part of the hill; but were unable to mount towards the crest, for ammunition was running short, and the enemy were too strongly posted. General Roberts therefore ordered Macpherson to hold the ground which he had gained, until next morning, when more troops would be sent.

At eight o'clock in the morning, accordingly, General Baker moved out from Sherpur, with a strong force, and attacked the enemy's position in flank; while Macpherson continued his advance in front. The Afghans fought desperately, and clung to their position until the British were close up; when a desperate hand-to-hand struggle took place, and the British became masters of the position.

While the fighting had been going on, great masses of the enemy had come down from the end of the valley, and threatened the road between Sherpur and Cabul. The 9th Lancers made a magnificent charge among them, broke them, and drove them back. Several other brilliant charges were made, and the plain was kept clear of the enemy. Captain Butson, however—who commanded—was killed, and two other officers wounded.

With each hour that passed the position grew more serious, as immense bodies of the enemy were seen, advancing from all sides. The city was now in open revolt, and the small garrison there with difficulty held their own.

One more effort was made to drive the enemy off the hills. Early on the 15th General Baker, with 1200 infantry and eight guns, left the cantonment. After very severe fighting, the enemy were driven from their lowest positions but, as Baker advanced, a body of from 15,000 to 20,000 of the enemy marched out across the plain, towards the position just captured. Steadily they advanced, and the shells which our mountain guns sent among them, and the volleys poured down from the face of the hill, did not suffice to check them in the slightest. Reassured by their own enormous numbers, and feeling that success was in their grasp, they pressed forward; and desperate fighting took place. A position held by the 5th Punjaub Infantry was carried by their attack, and two guns were lost; but the rest of the positions were maintained.

Seeing that it was impossible to hold the Bala-Hissar and Cabul, in the face of the hordes opposed to him—which were estimated, by the general himself, as numbering 80,000 men; but which the Afghans, themselves, afterwards acknowledged were between 100,000 and 120,000—General Roberts determined to concentrate his troops at Sherpur. Baker was ordered to maintain the position he held, at all costs, until the troops from the Bala-Hissar were withdrawn. This he did; and although, as he fell back, the Afghan hordes swarmed round him, he fought his way back to Sherpur and, by nightfall, all the British force were safely gathered in the cantonments there.

Two days previously, General Roberts had telegraphed for the regiments most advanced in the passes, below, to come forward. They arrived on the morning of the 16th, and the general had no longer any anxiety as to his ability to hold the cantonments—for months, if necessary—against the attacks of the Afghans.

Had these attacked on the morning following what was virtually a victory—whilst still flushed with triumph and excitement—it would have needed all the efforts of the English to hold their position, against so formidable an attack. The Afghans, however, contented themselves with occupying several walled villages near the cantonment, and keeping up an incessant fire upon it. Meanwhile, their main body indulged in wild excesses in Cabul—sacking the Hindoo quarter, and plundering all the shops, without much distinction of nationality.

Thus, three days elapsed; the British making the most of the time afforded them, by strengthening the weak points of their defenses Lines of wagons were placed in the gap between the unfinished wall and the foot of the hill. Wires were stretched in all directions, and chevaux-de-frise erected beyond.

On the 18th the enemy came down in force and, for some hours, a tremendous musketry fire was kept up at the position; but the fire of the musketry and guns, from the walls, was so hot that they did not venture upon an attack.

The following day General Baker sallied out and attacked a fortified post, a few hundred yards from the wall. From this place the enemy had greatly annoyed the garrison. After some severe fighting the Afghans were driven out, and the place blown up.

On the evening of the 22nd the general received news that the Afghans, having prepared a great number of ladders for the assault, intended to attack that night. There had been several similar warnings but, this time, the news proved correct. A signal fire was lit upon one of the heights at four in the morning and, at five o'clock, the plain was covered with the enemy. Quietly they crept up in the darkness, towards the walls; and at six o'clock a prodigious shouting was heard, and from the villages, orchards, and enclosed ground upon all sides, the enemy dashed forward to the assault.

As they approached, they opened fire on all sides; pressing chiefly towards the weak point, near the foot of the hills. But, tremendous as was the roar of the Afghan fire, it was drowned by the roll of musketry which broke from the whole circuit of the walls; where the British troops, rifle in hand, had been lying for three hours, waiting the attack. So terrible was the storm of lead that swept the plain that the Afghans paused, in their advance. For two hours they remained around the walls—yelling, shouting, and firing heavily—but all the efforts of their leaders could not induce them to rise from the ground, and hazard a charge. Many dropped within eighty or ninety yards of the wall but, beyond that, the bravest dared not advance.

When morning broke, the welcome news was brought down—from the outlook on the top of the hill—that far across the plain could be seen the tents of the force of General Gough; who was coming up through the passes, to the relief of the garrison. The news had reached the assailants, also. Considerable bodies of the enemy were observed moving out from Cabul, as if with the intention of attacking the relieving force.

The assailants of the British position—finding their inability to produce the smallest impression—were now beginning to waver; and General Gough ordered the cavalry and horse artillery to go out, by the road which led through a gorge in a hill behind, and to sweep round and take them in the rear.

This they did, with immense success. At the moment that they fell upon the enemy, the British infantry sallied out from the cantonment and attacked them in front. A panic seized the Afghans. In a few minutes the whole plain was covered with flying fugitives; among whom our cavalry swept backward and forward, cutting them up in all directions; while the fire of our infantry, and of the guns on the walls, searched them through and through, whenever they attempted to gather in a knot, and make a stand.

By nightfall, the whole of the Afghans had either fled to the hills, or were driven into Cabul. Upon the following day General Gough's force marched in but, before their arrival, it was found that the enemy had again evacuated the city; and the British were, as before, masters of the position. After the decisive defeat which had been inflicted upon them, and the dispersion of the great force which had gathered, confident of victory, there was little fear of any further attempt on the part of the enemy. They had brought their whole force into the field and, as this was defeated and dispersed, before the arrival of General Gough with his reinforcements, it was evident that success could not be hoped for against the united strength of the English.

The time passed quietly, now. The Bala-Hissar and Cabul were reoccupied and, as the natives were cowed by the crushing defeat they had experienced, there was no longer any repetition of the insolent and defiant manner which they had, before, manifested.

On the 3rd of January a message was brought to the orderly room that the general wished to see Sergeant Gale. Upon his presenting himself at the general's quarters, Sir Frederick Roberts—to his surprise—at once advanced, and shook him warmly by the hand.

"Mr. Gale," he said, "I am very happy to inform you that the Horse Guards have acted upon my recommendation, seconded by that which was sent in by your colonel—who wrote at once, upon receiving a notification from me of the step I had taken, saying that you had distinguished yourself very highly, in the attack upon the Peiwar-Khotal, and that he was convinced that you would make, in all respects, an excellent officer. With my despatches that have just come in, I have received a notification that my request has been attended to; together with a copy of the Gazette, in which you are appointed to the 66th Regiment.

"I have to congratulate you, sir. You are now an officer; and will, I am quite sure, do every credit to my recommendation."

The young soldier was, for a moment, too moved at the tidings to speak coherently; but he murmured his thanks to the general for his kindness.

"Do not say anything about that," the general said, heartily. "It is a pleasure, to me, to have been able to advance a promising young soldier.

"I am only sorry that you are not gazetted to a regiment in my own division. The 66th are at Candahar; and unfortunately they will not, I understand, form part of a column with which General Stuart will advance, in the spring, up the valley through Ghuzni to this place. Had it been so, it would have been best for you to wait their arrival here but, as it is, you had better go down the pass to India, and work round and join your regiment. It is a long road, but it is always best for a young officer to be with his regiment—especially when in the field—and it is possible that they may have their share of fighting, round Candahar.

"And now, there is one thing more. You will have to get an outfit, and there will be the expense of your travel, until you join your regiment. There will be no difficulty about an outfit. This you can procure easily, on the sale of some officer's effects.

"By the by, poor young Thompson, who died yesterday, was about your size; and you had better bid a lump sum for the whole of his kit. I shall be happy to be your banker for that, and the needful sum for your traveling expenses. When you join your regiment you will, of course, be able to draw your pay, from the date on which you were gazetted."

Will thanked the general very heartily for his offer, but said that he had 100 pounds standing at his account at the bank of Hindostan, which had been presented to him by the owners of the vessel in which he arrived there; and that this would be more than sufficient for all his needs, if the genera] would kindly authorize the staff paymaster to cash his drafts upon the bank.

This request was at once granted. The paymaster of Lieutenant Thompson's regiment estimated that the effects of the young officer would sell, at auction, for about 20 pounds; and this sum William Gale gladly paid, thereby obtaining a complete outfit of regimental and civilian clothes, and under linen of all descriptions. Another 30 pounds bought him a horse and saddlery while, for 5 pounds, he obtained a rough pony for the use of Yossouf—who steadily refused to leave him, although Will pointed out to him that, glad as he should be to have him with him, it would be far more to his advantage to remain among his people at Cabul, where he had means of settling comfortably.

Upon the following day—having obtained his new uniform, which he found required no alteration to fit him fairly—William Gale dined with General Roberts; who had kindly invited him in order to introduce him, in his new position, to the officers of his staff He was obliged to remain three or four days longer at Sherpur, until a strong escort, with sick, was going down through the passes to Jellalabad. His baggage was stowed upon a camel and, after a kind adieu from General Roberts, and a very cordial one from the staff sergeants—among whom he had worked for three months—he started with the convoy for the lower valleys.

The escort consisted of a hundred men of the infantry of the Guides. The way down the pass was difficult; but no snow had fallen for three weeks, and the roads were fairly beaten down by passing parties. Still, their progress was slow and, late on the afternoon of the second day after starting, they were still four miles from the fort of Jugdulluk; which was held by a British force, and where they were to halt for the night.

The Guides were on the alert. A party of four men were 200 yards ahead of the little column, which was commanded by Captain Edwards. Presently a shot rang out from the front, followed by a scattered discharge. William Gale was, at the moment, riding by the side of Captain Edwards. He had already placed himself under that officer's orders, in case of any emergency.

"Mr. Gale," Captain Edwards said, "will you ride forward at once, with six men, to the advanced party. When you get there, take such measures as you may think fit; and send me back word as to the strength and position of the enemy."

With six of the Guides, Will at once rode forward; while Captain Edwards halted, until the little column was gathered closely together: the camels and dhoolies, with sick men, in the center; the soldiers, in readiness for action, around them.

A soldier now ran up with a slip of paper, upon which Will had scribbled, in pencil:

"The enemy are apparently in considerable force. The defile opens here. They are disposed among rocks and boulders, on either side."

Will, on arriving at the advanced party, had found at once that the force of the enemy was too strong for him to attempt to move forward, at present. He had posted the men behind boulders by the wayside, ordering them to pick off any man that showed himself; and they were soon engaged in a sharp musketry skirmish with the enemy. One of their number had fallen at the first discharge; and Will, taking his rifle, used it with effect, until the head of the convoy arrived.

It was now fast becoming dark, and the flashes of the enemy's fire, from behind the rocks, showed how numerous were the assailants.

"There must be a couple of thousands of the scoundrels," Will said to Captain Edwards, as the latter came up to ascertain the state of affairs. "Hampered with the convoy, the position is an awkward one. It is fortunate they attacked where they did; for we can hold our own here while, if they had waited till we got fairly down into this comparatively open valley, and then attacked us on both flanks, it would have been very awkward.

"We must try and clear them out. We cannot stop here all night. It is freezing very sharp, now; and the cold will be intense, in an hour or two."

"I will take thirty men," Captain Edwards said, "and skirmish along among the rocks on the left. Do you take as many more, and move along the right of the path. The remaining forty shall stay here, under my sergeant, to guard the convoy from an attack in rear, in case any of the enemy should come down the defile behind us."

The fight soon became exceedingly hot. Making their way along the rocks, on either side of the path, the Guides slowly drove the enemy before them. It was hard work, however, for the tribesmen fought steadily and, as those in front fell back upon those lower down the valley, their resistance became every moment more obstinate. Eight of Will's party had already fallen; but although, sword in hand, he was leading them, encouraging them with voice and gesture, not a bullet had as yet struck him.

Presently Captain Edwards, having crossed the valley, stood by his side.

"We are at a standstill," he said. "Nine of my men are killed or wounded, already; and the fellows are as thick as peas. I am afraid we shall never be able to force our way through.

"There," he exclaimed, as a sound of firing was heard in the rear, "they have come down on the convoy from behind. We had better, I think, fall back a bit; and take post near the mouth of the defile. We must defend ourselves, as best we can, till morning."

The movement was steadily executed, the wounded men being carried with them as they retired. The tribesmen advanced as they fell back—not venturing to press them, however; for the rear guard kept their faces towards them, and any who ventured to show themselves instantly paid the penalty of their rashness.

For an hour the fight went on. It was night now, and dark as pitch in the deep valley in which the fight was going on; the position of the combatants being only indicated by the flickering flashes of the muskets. The Afghans were gradually creeping nearer, as the Guides could see, by the flashes.

"If the fellows only make a determined rush at us," Captain Edwards said to Will, "it will go hard with us. Fortunately, they are as much in the dark as we are, and will find it difficult to gather for a rush."

"I think we may hold out till morning but, by that time, news that we are blockaded here will spread throughout the hills, and we may have 10,000 of them down on us. I think, if you will give me leave, the best plan will be for me to try and make my way down to Jugdulluk, to bring up help from there."

"You would never get through," Captain Edwards advised. "It is a brave offer, Gale, but could not be done."

"I think it might be done," Will said. "It is as dark as pitch. I will take my lad with me, and will borrow a native cap and cloak from one of the bearers—there are some Afghans among them. I will take off my patrol jacket, and leave it behind me, and my boots. We will crawl along in the dark.

"If—as is likely enough—we stumble against some of them, we will say we are wounded, and are making our way to the rear. They cannot see us in the dark, and my Afghan will pass muster; and Yossouf will certainly not be suspected. If I am discovered and killed, he will go forward and deliver the message."

The plan seemed to offer every possibility of success; and Captain Edwards, seeing how serious the position was, consented to allow Will to attempt it.

A few words to Yossouf sufficed to inform him of the task Will was about to undertake, and he at once agreed to share the danger. A rough sheepskin cap was obtained for Will from one of the camel men. His tunic was thrown off, and a posteen—or Afghan sheepskin coat—was put on, in its place. He took a long matchlock, which the camel man carried, slung over his shoulders; took off his boots, and thrust a pair of loose Afghan shoes into his belt. Yossouf needed no preparations, beyond borrowing a matchlock.

Wringing Captain Edwards' hand, Will stooped on his hands and knees and, with Yossouf a pace or two ahead, began to crawl down the path. Before starting, the orders had been sent round to the soldiers to fire at the rocks on either side of the path, but on no account to fire down the road, itself. As he expected, Will found this clear of Afghans, for a considerable distance. A heavy fire had, previous to their starting, been directed down this path; to prevent the Afghans from gathering there in the darkness, preparatory to making a rush. They came across several dead bodies, but the enemy were all behind rocks, on one side or other of the road.

When they had crawled a hundred yards, they were past the front line, from which the Afghans were keeping up a heavy fire; but Will knew that, from their numbers, they must extend far back down the valley and, indeed, from almost every rock the flashes of the matchlocks blazed out, as the lurking tribesmen fired in the direction of the mouth of the defile.

They were nearly a quarter of a mile down when an Afghan—who had been crouching behind a rock, close to the path—advanced into the road to fire, when he stumbled against Yossouf.

"What are you doing?" he exclaimed.

"We are both wounded, by the Kaffirs," Yossouf answered; "and are making our way back, to bind up our wounds. I think my arm is broken; but I mean to come back again, to have a few more shots at the infidels."

"Good!" the Afghan replied. "How goes it in front?"

"Their fire is lessening," Yossouf said. "We must have killed many. We shall finish with them in the morning, if not before."

The Afghan fired, and then retired behind his rock to load again; while Will and Yossouf continued their way.

A few hundred yards farther, they rose to their feet. Will slipped on the Afghan shoes; and they then proceeded, at a rapid pace, down the pass. Several times they withdrew from the road, and hid beside it, as they met parties of tribesmen hurrying up to join in the attack but, in an hour after starting, they heard the welcome challenge of the sentry, at Jugdulluk.

Saying who he was, Will was at once passed forward into the fort, and taken to the quarters of the officer in command.

"I am Lieutenant Gale, of the 66th," Will said, "and was on my way down the pass with the convoy of wounded, and 100 men of the Guides, under Captain Edwards. They have been attacked at the lower end of the defile, some four miles above, by a very strong body of tribesmen. They are attacked front and rear.

"I have made my way through to ask you if you can despatch a force to their rescue. Were the tribesmen attacked in their rear, now, they might be scattered easily enough; but they are assembling very fast and, in the morning, it will be a difficult matter to reach them."

"We have fancied," the officer said, "for the last two hours that we heard distant firing; but we could not be sure, for any noise echoes so, in these mountains. I will set out at once with you, with as many men as I can spare."

CHAPTER 17: AT CANDAHAR.

The garrison of Jugdulluk consisted only of 220 Sikhs. The officer in command left seventy of these in charge of one of his subalterns, with the injunction to exercise the most extreme vigilance, in his absence. Then with 150 men, a subaltern, and Will Gale, he started up the path to effect the rescue of the beleaguered convoy.

The road wound and turned frequently among the spurs of the lofty hills, which had cut off the sound of firing from the garrison; and only a faint and distant murmur was audible, when they started. After marching two miles, however, the rattle of the musketry became clear and distinct. Upon the way the officer in command learned, from Will, the exact position of things in front, and the situation of the Afghans.

When within half a mile of the scene of action, fifty men were thrown out on either side of the road; while the other fifty advanced, very slowly, along the center The orders to the flankers were to search among the rocks, as they advanced, and to bayonet or shoot every Afghan they found among them.

It was not long before they came upon the enemy. Then the rifles cracked out; and the wild shouts of the Afghans betokened their astonishment at being thus, unexpectedly, assailed in rear. Numerous as they were, they offered but a light resistance. Their one thought was to effect their escape; and they hurried rapidly away as the relief advanced, climbing the steep sides of the valley by paths only known to themselves; and then, from the hillside far above, opening a scattered fire, at random, down into the valley.

In five minutes, all resistance had ceased. The flanking parties were ordered to shelter themselves behind the rocks, and to return the fire of the natives on the hillsides; to retain the position until the convoy passed through, and then to close behind it, as a rear guard. With the fifty men in the road, the officer then pushed forward; and was soon greeted by a shout of welcome from the defenders of the defile.

There was not a minute to be lost; for the Afghans, when they recovered from their first scare, would renew the attack; and the party pressing down the defile on their rear—ignorant of what had taken place below—were still keeping up an incessant fire. Twenty-eight of the Guides were already killed, or wounded.

Several of the sick men, in the dhoolies, volunteered to walk down to the fort, and to give up their places to those of the wounded men who were unable to walk and, in a few minutes, the convoy moved forward. The fifty men of tho relieving party placed themselves in their rear and, as the tribesmen who had been attacking them from behind rushed down through the defile, with exulting shouts—believing that they were now secure of their victims—the Sikhs opened so heavy a fire on them that they fell back up the defile, in disorder.

As the convoy wound down the valley, the enemy again assembled on the hills and pursued them hotly. But the Sikhs and Guides kept up so steady a fire that they did not venture to approach to close quarters and, with a loss of eighteen more men, the convoy reached the shelter of the fort. Conscious of their inability to attack this position, the Afghans drew off.

On returning to his friends, Will had resumed his uniform; and now, on reaching the fort, Captain Edwards expressed to him his warmest thanks for the hazardous adventure that he had undertaken.

"I shall, of course," he concluded, "furnish a full report of the affair to the general; and I should think he would recommend you for the Victoria Cross. If any fellow ever deserved it, you do so; for it seemed, to me, almost certain death to venture through the pass. I never expected to see you again; and I was never more glad, in my life, than I was when the firing began down below in the valley, and knew that help was at hand for, had you failed, it would have been all up with us. I doubt if we should have seen the morning and, at any rate, few of us would have been left, by that time."

The convoy reached Jellalabad without further adventure, and Captain Edwards reported to the general the events of the march. He was requested to give a full written report of the affair; and the general stated that, in forwarding it, he should certainly append a recommendation that Lieutenant Gale should receive the Victoria Cross, for his gallantry in venturing through the Afghans to fetch assistance for the convoy.

Will himself, as soon as he reached Jellalabad, hurried away to the cantonment of the Norfolk Rangers; who were in a village, a mile distant from the town. He was not recognized, as he passed through the soldiers scattered about the village street; and was soon at the principal house, where the colonel had his quarters. On sending in his name, he was at once shown into the room where the colonel was at work.

"I am indeed glad to see you," the latter said, rising and shaking him heartily by the hand; "and I congratulate you, most warmly, on your promotion. I promised to do what I could for you, when you joined; but I did not expect that it would be so soon."

"I am indeed obliged to you, colonel, for your kindness," Will said; "and am conscious how much I owe to you."

"Not at all, my boy, not at all. It was General Roberts, himself, who recommended you for your commission; and I was only too glad to back up his recommendation, to the best of my power. We all thought you were gone, when you were reported as missing at Ali-Kheyl, and we heard from the sentry that—having gone forward, to investigate the origin of a noise he had reported to you—you were suddenly fired upon; and that he saw no more of you, as he ran back to the picket. I was glad, indeed, when the report was received from poor Cavagnari that, upon his arrival at Cabul, he had found you there, just recovering from your wounds.

"Then, of course, we gave you up again, when we heard of the massacre of the mission; and it seemed like a resurrection from the dead when I got a letter from Roberts, saying you were found again, and that he was recommending you for a commission.

"I see by the Gazette you are appointed to the 66th, and we were expecting to see you on your way down. Had you any difficulty in getting through the passes?"

"The convoy was attacked, sir, by the tribesmen, when near Jugdulluk; but the garrison came out to our rescue, and we got through safely. But we had thirty men killed or wounded."

"A smart affair!" the colonel said. "And now, of course, you will take up your quarters with us, for a day or two, before you go on. The officers will all be glad to see you; and you will be able to tell us all about the attack on the mission, and the recent fighting. Roberts has been having some hot work, there.

"We have been grumbling horribly at our bad luck. We thought, at the time, we were fortunate at being sent back to India, when peace was signed, instead of being kept in the Khurum valley. But the consequence has been that we have been out of it all. However, we must look upon you as our representative."

Will hesitated about staying, but the colonel overruled his objection; saying that, as there would be no fighting until the spring, there could be no particular hurry for him to join his regiment. A spare room was placed at his disposal, in the colonel's quarters, and Will was soon made at home. The officers flocked in, upon hearing of his arrival; and all congratulated him, most warmly, upon his promotion. An hour later, a mounted orderly rode up to the colonel's quarters.

"Is Lieutenant Gale here?" he asked.

Will went forward.

"A note from the general," the orderly said and, handing it to him, "also one for Colonel Shepherd."

Will's note was simply an invitation to dine, that evening, with the general. The colonel's letter was as follows:

"Colonel Shepherd,

"As Lieutenant Gale was promoted from your regiment, I think it is likely that he has found his way to you. I have written to ask him to dinner; please spare him to me. I hope you will do me the pleasure of accompanying him. He has performed a most gallant action; and I have just had the pleasure of writing a dispatch, recommending him for the V.C."

Will and the colonel at once wrote notes, accepting the invitation. When these had been sent out to the orderly the colonel read aloud, to the officers present, the note he had received from the general.

"Now," he said, turning to Will, "what is that you have been doing? You told us the convoy had been attacked, and sharply pressed; but you said nothing of your share in the affair. What was it?"

"It was simple enough, sir," Will answered, coloring hotly. "We were surrounded, just at the mouth of the defile. The enemy held the valley in front in great force, and another party were pressing on our rear. Things looked awkward; and so I volunteered, with my faithful Afghan boy, to get through the fellows in front, and make my way down to Jugdulluk—which was four miles away—to bring the garrison up on their rear.

"It was simple enough and, in fact, there was less danger than in remaining with the convoy, to be popped at by the Afghans. The night was very dark and, down in the bottom, one could hardly see one's hand. The Afghans had been cleared pretty well off the road, by our fire; so there was no difficulty, whatever, in making our way down. We were, in fact, only questioned once; and my boy's statement, that we were wounded and were going to the rear, was accepted at once."

"The fact that you succeeded," the colonel said, "does not detract from the pluck required to attempt such an adventure. To my mind, there is more courage required in venturing, alone, through the midst of the Afghans, at night, than there would be in charging any number of them, in hot blood, in the light. You have earned the V.C. well, Gale; and I am sure we all feel proud of you, though you do not belong to us, now."

There was a chorus of approval from the officers around.

"I don't belong to you now, sir, but," Will said, earnestly, "I shall always feel, whatever regiment I may be with, that the Norfolk Rangers are my corps. It is the kindness which was shown me, here, which has put me in the way of rising; and I shall never forget it."

It was now time to dress for dinner; and Will, for the first time, arrayed himself in full-dress uniform. The buttons and facings he would, of course, get altered when he joined the regiment.

The general received Gale with great kindness. He had a large party to dinner. Among them was Captain Edwards; and after the table was cleared the latter—at the general's request—gave a full account of the attack upon the convoy; and Will was then called upon to relate the part which he had taken in it, which he did very modestly and quietly.

For two days longer he stopped at Jellalabad; and then, with a hearty farewell to the officers of the Rangers, he started down the pass. He again journeyed with a convoy for, although the tribes below Jellalabad were cowed into submission, many attacks were made, by the mountaineers, upon small parties going up or down the passes; and stringent orders had been issued that no officer should go down, except when accompanied by an escort.

After a week's traveling Will arrived, with Yossouf, at Peshawur. Then he rode, by easy stages, until he reached the Indus where, taking his place on a steamer, he traveled down the river to Sukkur; where he disembarked, and started for the weary march, across the desert, to the foot of the Bolan.

Along the road large numbers of coolies were at work, constructing a line of railway, which was now almost complete to the foot of the pass. It did not ascend this but, turning to the right, wound up the hills to the plateau. It was intended to be taken on to Candahar, and its completion would have been an immense boon, both to that city and to India; as it would have opened a great trade to the north, and have enabled the inhabitants of the fertile plain, around Candahar, to send their corn, fruit, and other products down to India. Unhappily, with the subsequent abandonment of Candahar the formation of the railway was stopped; and the whole allowed to go to ruin. The work has, however, been recently taken in hand again.

Will and his follower ascended the Bolan; stopped a day or two at Quettah, to rest their horses; and then proceeded on through the fertile plains of Pisheen, and over the Kojak Pass, and thence on to Candahar. Here Will joined his new regiment, and was well received by its officers.

In every regiment in the service, an officer risen from the ranks is invariably received with special courtesy, and kindness. Every endeavor is made to place him at his ease, in his new position. This is specially so when—as in Will's case—the promotion has been earned by distinguished services in the field.

In most instances, officers promoted from the rank of sergeant are a good deal older than the young lieutenants among whom they find themselves. Being often married men, and having nothing but their pay to depend upon, they find themselves, therefore, unable to take much part in the pleasures and gaieties of the regiment. In India, however, as the rate of pay is much higher, an unmarried officer can live very comfortably on his pay; and as, in the field, the expenses are far less than when a regiment is in cantonments at a large station—where there is much gaiety—Will found that he was able to live very comfortably, on his pay, in the same style as that of his comrades.

They, on their part, were pleased to find in Will a young fellow of the same age as the other junior lieutenants and, withal, a pleasant, gentlemanly young man. The fact, too, that he had seen so much service, had gone through stirring adventures, and had fought by the side of Cavagnari in the Bala-Hissar, made him quite a hero among them; and Will was soon thoroughly one of themselves.

When it was known that the regiment was likely to remain at Candahar for some time, many luxuries had been brought up from India; together with means of passing away the time, such as the necessary appliances for cricket, racket, and other games. Among these, too, were several boxes of books; and Will—who had, at first, a little amused his comrades by his absolute ignorance of cricket, but who soon became a promising recruit at that game—steadily devoted three hours a day to reading, in order to improve his mind, and to obtain a knowledge of the various matters which were topics of conversation among his comrades. Above all he diligently studied the newspapers—great parcels of which arrived every week—in order to obtain some knowledge of the political state of affairs in England, the position of parties, and the various matters occupying public attention.

He had, at first, found his ignorance of these matters a great drawback to him, in general conversation; but he discovered that newspapers, rather than books, are useful in enabling a man to mix with his fellows in social talk; and that the current events of the day form ninety-nine hundredths of the subjects of conversation. The fact that all his mess mates had been thoroughly posted in the history of Rome and Greece, that they could read these languages almost a well as English, that they had been coached in high mathematics, and had a knowledge of French and German, gave them—Will found—very little advantage in general conversation; and he was surprised to discover how entirely useless, from a practical point of view, is much of the instruction which must be mastered by young men, before obtaining a commission.

Many times, when talking with the young officers with whom he was most intimate, he inquired of them what good they found the learning they had obtained, during their many years of schooling; and was surprised at the universal reply: "No good, whatever!" He found, however, that some of the more thoughtful of them admitted that they had gained increased powers of thought, and reasoning, from their training.

"That is the good of education, Gale," Captain Fletcher—who commanded Will's company—said to him one day. "A certain time must be spent upon education, and the course of study is intended to strengthen and improve the mental powers. As far as soldiers are concerned, it would certainly be of more practical use if the time we spent at school on Greek, and mathematics, had been expended in acquiring three or four European and Indian languages. But you see, boys educated at the same school must all work together, and study the same books, whatever the profession for which they are intended is. Our practical—that is, our professional education—only begins when we go to Woolwich, or Sandhurst.

"Perhaps, some day, a different system will be employed. There will be special schools for lads intended for various professions, and careers. Till that is done, we must all work upon a common basis; which has at least the advantage of forming the mind, for the after work of acquiring the special branches of knowledge required, by us, in the careers we may adopt.

"If you ask my advice I should not, at your time of life, dream of setting to to learn the dead languages, or to study mathematics. Read the histories of Rome and Greece, and study that of your own country. Read books of travel and the biographies of great men, and keep yourself well posted—as you are doing—in current public events. You will then find yourself able to take part, on equal terms, in any conversation which may be going on. You will, indeed, be considered by strangers an exceptionally well-informed young fellow; and you may pass through life without any person having a suspicion that Latin, Greek, and mathematics—the cardinal points of an ordinary education—are wholly unknown to you."

Will was cheered by the advice and, henceforth, directed his studies only in the direction which Captain Fletcher had indicated.

At the beginning of April, a large diminution had taken place in the force stationed at Candahar; as General Sir Donald Stewart marched, with the greater portion of the force, for Cabul. The route led through a country which was the stronghold of the fanatical party—the important town of Ghuzni containing the most fanatical population in all Afghanistan. This had been the center whence the attacks on General Roberts had been organized, and it was deemed necessary to march a strong force through the country, to overawe the tribesmen, and break up their organization.

The march was uneventful as far as Shahjui, the limit of the Candahar province. At this point the Taraki country begins. The Mollahs here had been actively preaching a holy war, and several thousand men were reported as having collected. The villages were found to be deserted, and everything betokened an active opposition to the advance.

When the head of the column arrived at Ahmed-Khel, a body of the enemy—estimated at from 12,000 to 15,000—were seen clustered on a semicircle of hills, beyond the village. The baggage of the column stretched far along the road, and it was all important to prevent the enemy from falling upon this long line. General Stewart therefore determined to attack them.

The two batteries of artillery opened fire upon the enemy; who at once, in reply, rushed down to the assault. The charge was led by some 3000 or 4000 Ghazis—as they were called—fanatics, who had sworn to give their lives in carrying out their object, of exterminating the hated infidel. Some of these men were armed with rifles and matchlocks; some with heavy swords, knives, and pistols; others, again, with pikes made of bayonets, or pieces of sharpened iron fastened upon long sticks. Some were on foot, and some on horseback.

With wild yells, the mass rushed down upon our troops; and so sudden and unexpected was the attack, so swiftly did they cross the 400 or 500 yards of intervening ground, that they came upon the British before preparation could be made for their reception. At the moment when they charged, some of the cavalry were moving across in front of the infantry; and these, before they could be got into a line for a charge, were surrounded by the enemy.

In an instant they were lost to sight, in the cloud of dust and smoke. It was a hand-to-hand struggle and, in the confusion, a troop charged to the right, in rear of the main line of the infantry, and burst into the midst of the 19th Punjaub Infantry; who were in reserve, in rear of the position occupied by the general and his staff.

In a moment, all was confusion. The ammunition mules were stampeded, riderless horses dashed hither and thither and, close behind the cavalry, the Ghazis—with a furious rush—dashed in among the broken infantry. Upon the left flank, too, the Ghazis swept round in the rear of our infantry line and, for a time, it seemed as if the whole British formation was broken up—in which case the numbers of their foes must have prevailed. Colonel Lister, V.C. however—who commanded the 3rd Ghoorkas—threw his men rapidly into company squares, and poured a tremendous fire into the fanatics.

All along the line the attack raged; and so hurriedly had the battle commenced that many of the men had not even fixed bayonets. Desperate was the hand-to-hand fighting, and valor more conspicuous than that of the Ghazis was never shown. Furiously they threw themselves upon the line of their opponents; clutching their muskets and trying to wrench them from their hands, while they strove to cut down their holders. Many of them threw themselves upon the fixed bayonets, and died in the endeavor to cut down the soldiers with their swords; but the three regiments which formed the line—one British (the 59th), one Ghoorkas, and one Sikhs—alike held their own, and poured rolling volleys into the ranks of the enemy.

Desperately the Ghazis strove to capture the guns; which were firing case and shrapnel into them, at a distance of thirty yards, mowing them down in hundreds. Not even would this terrible slaughter have checked them, had not the 2nd Punjaub Cavalry most gallantly charged them, again and again.

The general, surrounded by his escort, was in the midst of the fight—the enemy having burst in between the guns and the 59th Foot—and officers and troopers had, alike, to fight for their lives; several of the escort being killed and wounded. At last, however, the Ghazis fell back from the terrible fire.

The 1st Punjaub Cavalry, coming up from the rear, joined the 2nd in a hot pursuit; and our native allies the Hazaras, seeing the Afghans in retreat, also rushed out after them, and the rout of the enemy was complete. The fighting had lasted about an hour, and the enemy left over a thousand dead on the field, besides the bodies which had been carried off Their wounded, of course, were far more numerous. Ghuzni surrendered without opposition, when the column reached it; the fighting men having been engaged in the battle of Ahmed-Khel, and having had enough of hostilities.

On the 23rd of April, a force under Brigadier General Palliser advanced against a large body of natives, who had assembled near the village of Ghalez—again led by the Ghazis. These rushed to the attack, with a courage and desperation equal to that shown by the fanatics in the previous battle. Our men however were, this time, prepared; and were able to inflict very heavy losses upon the enemy, without allowing them to get to close quarters.

This was the end of the Afghan resistance. General Stewart moved on to Cabul without further fighting, and effected a junction there with the force under General Roberts.

CHAPTER 18: ON THE HELMUND.

With the junction of the forces of Generals Stewart and Roberts, what may be called the second period of the Afghan war came to an end. All opposition had ceased, and it appeared probable that there would be no more fighting.

Abdul-Rahman, a prince of the royal house who—after for some time fighting against Sheer Ali—had been defeated, and obliged to fly the country; had, for a long time, been a resident among the Russians. Upon the abdication of Yakoub he had crossed the frontier, and had entered at the north of Afghanistan; assuming the title of Ameer. He had been well received in that part of the country, and as no other competitor for the throne appeared to have chances equal to his, and as the British government were most anxious to withdraw their forces from the country, his authority was recognized by us. Negotiations were opened with him; and it was arranged that, as he approached Cabul, the British force would retire.

The summer had passed not unpleasantly, at Candahar. The country was peaceful. Cricket matches were got up between the various regiments, and horse races established. Candahar was governed by a protege of the British, named Wali Shere Ali. He had organized a native army, to support his authority upon our withdrawal.

The only circumstances which occurred to mar the pleasing time were isolated attacks, upon British officers and men, by Ghazis. These attacks were sometimes made in broad daylight, in the streets of Candahar, where the escape of those who perpetrated them was impossible. These fanatics regarding their own life with indifference, so that they could but kill one or more of the British, before being cut down.

One day, as William Gale was walking in the principal street of Candahar, at a short distance behind Colonel Ripon—an Indian official of very long standing and experience, who had come up on a special mission to arrange, with the Wali, the details of the civil government of the province—he saw three Afghans, who were loitering in the road, draw their long tulwars and dash upon that officer.

The first who reached him delivered a sweeping blow; which the colonel, taken by surprise, partly received on his uplifted arm—but was struck to the ground. Another of the Ghazis raised his sword; but before it could fall Will Gale—who saw at once that he was too far behind to interpose between the assailant and the victim—drew his revolver from his belt and, taking a hasty aim, fired. The shot was an accurate one; the bullet striking the Afghan on the forehead, just as he was about to strike. He fell forward on the colonel; receiving, as he did so, a tremendous blow which the third Ghazi was aiming at the prostrate man.

Before the blow could be repeated, Will had bounded forward and, sword in one hand and revolver in the other, faced the two Afghans. Another shot freed him of one of his assailants; just as the other, rushing recklessly forward, aimed a blow at him—which he was not quick enough to parry. His right arm fell to his side but, in an instant, he threw himself upon his foe; and the two fell heavily to the ground, the Afghan striving desperately to shorten his sword, so as to use the point; while Will strove to liberate his left arm—which was under the man—and so use his revolver, which he still grasped.

At this moment some soldiers of the 66th ran up; and one of them, with his bayonet—which, since these attacks began, were always carried at the belt—brought the conflict to a conclusion, by running it through and through the Ghazi's body.

Will soon rose to his feet. Colonel Ripon had already freed himself from the body of the dead Ghazi, and had struggled to his feet; the blood streaming from his head and arm.

"I have to thank you for my life, sir," he said, warmly. "Had your aid come but two seconds less promptly, they would have finished me.

"But I fear you are severely wounded."

"Oh, no!" Will answered. "It is only a flesh wound, from my shoulder to my elbow. Luckily, my sword partly caught the blow. I was aiming at the other fellow, and had not time to parry fairly. I shall be none the worse for it, in a week's time. My wound is less severe than yours, sir."

"We are both bleeding pretty freely," the colonel said. "My quarters are close at hand and, as the principal medical officer lives in the same house, you cannot do better than come in with me."

In a few minutes their wounds were bandaged, the doctor saying that no serious harm had been done, in either case; but that care and quiet, lest fever should supervene, would be necessary for a week or two. As the house was much more airy, and commodious, than that in which Will was quartered, the colonel begged him so strongly to move his quarters thither, until able to return to duty, that Will agreed to do so; and was soon installed, with Yossouf in attendance, in the colonel's quarters. He was greatly pleased with the old officer, whose manner was most kind and courteous; and who, from his long experience in India, was full of anecdotes and information concerning the country.

Ten days after the struggle, the doctor told them that there was no longer any occasion for his services. Their wounds were healing favorably, and all fear of fever had passed. At the same time, it would still be some time before either could take their arms from their slings.

The following day, in honor of his convalescence, Colonel Ripon invited several friends to dinner; among them General Burrows, and Colonel Galbraith of the 66th. All had, of course, heard the details of the attack on Colonel Ripon; and Will was congratulated, warmly, upon the promptness that he had showed.

"Do you know, colonel," General Burrows said, as they were smoking their cigars after dinner, "there is a wonderful likeness between you and Lieutenant Gale. I should have taken you for father and son, anywhere."

The other officers agreed with the remark.

The likeness was certainly strong. Both were men of six feet in height. The colonel's hair and mustache were grizzled, and his face bronzed with the sun of many Indian summers. He was thin and spare of habit; but his shoulders were broad, and it was evident that, in his youth, he must have possessed much of the muscular strength which was apparent in Will's more rounded limbs. But it was in their eyes that there was the greatest similarity. Both were gray, and of nearly the same shade; both had a simple, straightforward, and kindly expression; both were shaded by straight, and rather heavy eyebrows.

The men looked at each other.

"I suppose he is like me," Colonel Ripon said; "still more like, I fancy, what I remember myself, at his age; but curiously enough he has—ever since I met him—been recalling some one else to my mind;" and a shade passed over his face.

Seeing that Colonel Ripon was not disposed to talk further on the subject, a fresh topic of conversation was started. There was news that Ayoub Khan—the brother of Yakoob, who was governor at Herat—was marching south, at the head of a large force, with the intention of opposing Abdul-Rahman, and again reseating Yakoob on the throne. He had also preached a holy war against the British.

"I fear that the trouble is serious," General Burrows said. "The troops Ayoub is bringing with him have not yet met us in the field. The population on the road is wild and fanatical, in the extreme; and will, no doubt, join him to a man. On the other hand, the troops of the Wali are not to be depended upon, and the brunt of the fighting is sure to fall upon us."

Three days later, the order was issued by General Primrose that the 66th Regiment, the Bombay Grenadiers, and Jacob's Rifles; together with the 3rd Scinde Horse and 3rd Bombay Cavalry, with a battery of artillery; were to move out with the Wali's army towards Girishk, on the river Helmund, which formed the boundary between the province of Candahar and that of Herat.

After the long period of inactivity at Candahar, Will was delighted at the thought of taking part in an expedition, with his regiment; but when they reached the Helmund life was, for some time, exceedingly monotonous. The news of Ayoub's advance greatly excited the population—who had been further worked up by agents, widely distributed through the country; and by the exhortations of the Mollahs and Ghazis. Consequently, rambling at any distance from the camp was forbidden; and the shooting parties, which had been one of the great resources of their life at Candahar, were peremptorily put an end to.

Colonel Ripon had accompanied the force, as the Wali's adviser. Both he and Will had recovered completely from their wounds. When the regiment first marched, indeed, the surgeon had strongly recommended Will to remain behind, until his wound had completely healed; but the young officer had so strongly begged to be allowed to accompany the regiment that the surgeon had consented. His colonel had, for a time, relieved him from all duty, and he rode in rear of the regiment; but within a fortnight of their arrival at the Helmund, he was able to lay aside his sling, and to take his turn of regular duty.

The officers did all that they could to make existence tolerable, on the sandy shores of the Helmund. They got up foot races and athletic sports for the men, played cricket on the sands, and indulged in a bath—twice a day—in the river. Will often spent the evening in Colonel Ripon's tent. A warm friendship had arisen between the two officers, and each day seemed to bring them closer together.

All this time, Ayoub's army was known to be approaching. It had been delayed by want of transport, and by the difficult nature of the country over which it had to pass. The guns, too—of which it was reported to have a large number—had greatly hampered it but, by the second week in July, it was near at hand.

For some time, the Wali's troops had been showing signs of insubordination; and little doubt was entertained that they had been tampered with, by Ayoub's emissaries. The question of disarming them was several times discussed; but the Wali maintained his faith that they would remain true to their salt, and the British force was so small that it was deemed imprudent to take any step to diminish their strength, by dispensing with the services of a strong body of men who might, after all, be faithful at the critical moment. Moreover, it was doubtful whether they would submit to be disarmed, by a force so inferior to their own. Should the attempt to disarm them succeed, they must either be escorted back to Candahar, by a strong detachment of the British; or be permitted to disperse, in which case they would assuredly swell the advancing army of Ayoub.

One day Will arranged to start, the next morning at daybreak, for a day's shooting with four other young officers—Hammond and Fortescue of Jacob's Rifles, and Plater and Lowther of the Grenadiers. The country round the camp had been already shot over, so they were to go some miles out. Will's colonel—in giving him leave off parade for the day—had asked him to endeavor to ascertain, at any village he might enter, the state of the feeling of the natives respecting Ayoub, and their disposition towards the British; points on which a deplorable ignorance existed, in the camp.

The party started before daybreak, putting their wiry little tats—or native ponies—into a gallop, so as to reach the spot—eight miles distant—where they were to begin to shoot as early as possible; so as to get two or three hours' sport, before the heat of the day really set in. After an hour's ride, they overtook their servants; who had gone on ahead, with the guns and luncheon. The sun was but just above the horizon, and the morning air was cool and pleasant.

Dismounting, they handed over the ponies to the servants and, taking the guns and ammunition, set out on foot. The servants were to go on, with the ponies and lunch, to a village in the hills, four miles distant; and to get tiffin ready, by eleven o'clock.

The young officers set out on foot, keeping a short distance apart. Two of their servants accompanied them, to carry the game; the other three went with the two Syces, who looked after the ponies The ground was broken and stony, and altogether uncultivated, except in the neighborhood of the villages. They had better sport than they expected, for hares darted out in numbers from behind the rocks. Some of these were bowled over, while others escaped; and there was much bantering and laughter among the young men, none of whom were first-class shots.

As the sun rose higher the game became more scarce and, by ten o'clock, the party turned their faces towards the village where they were to lunch; and which lay, they calculated, a mile or two away on their right. The sun was now blazing down upon them; and they were glad, indeed, when they came in sight of the village—which was not perceived until they were close to it, as it lay in a deep and rocky valley.

Yossouf met them, as they entered the village.

"Well, Yossouf, where have you laid the tiffin?"

"I have spread it, sahib, on a level piece of ground, in the shade of the chief's house. He did not seem disposed to be civil and, indeed, I thought that it would be more pleasant out of doors, in the shade, than inside."

"Much more pleasant, Yossouf; and these forts, as they call them, are generally stuffy places, with small windows. What is the feeling of the people here?"

"They are looking forward to Ayoub's coming, sir, when they say a holy war will be preached, and every man will rise against the infidels. When they found I was a countryman, they talked freely enough before me; especially as I led them to believe that I had been taken prisoner, at Cabul, and forced to accompany you as a sort of slave.

"I should recommend that, as soon as tiffin is over, you should start for the camp; for I don't think it is quite safe, here."

"They would never think of attacking us, Yossouf, with our force within an easy day's march."

"I don't know, sir," Yossouf said, doubtfully. "They say that the Wali's men are all with them; and that these, alone, are quite sufficient to eat up the three British regiments."

"They will find out their mistake, if they try it. However, Yossouf, I will let the others know what you think."

By this time, they had arrived at the spot where the lunch was laid out; and very tempting it looked, to hungry men. A great dish of curry—made with some fowls purchased in the village—was the principal dish; but there were some fish—which Yossouf had caught in the Helmund, on the previous day—a roast of young kid, and several dishes of fresh fruit. A large vessel of porous clay, containing the drinking water, stood close by; and the necks of some bottles of claret peeped, out from a tub full of water; while a pitcher of cold tea was ready, for those who preferred it. The young men set to with a vigorous appetite and, when the meal was over, pipes and cigars were lighted; and they prepared to enjoy a rest, until the heat of the day was past.

Will now told them what Yossouf had said.

"Oh, nonsense, Gale!" Hammond said. "Your boy is an Afghan, and these fellows are always dreaming about treachery.

"They are scowling, sulky-looking brutes," he said, looking at a group of natives, who stood watching them, with lowering eyes, "and of course, they hate us as infidel dogs but, as to attacking us, it's all nonsense."

"Well, you know, Hammond, these Ghazis do attack us, in all sorts of places—as I have found, to my cost—and these villages abound with these fanatics."

"Oh, yes," Fortescue said, lazily, "of course they do; but we have got our revolvers handy, and our guns are within reach of our hands. We should make precious short work of any Ghazis who were to run amuck among us.

"Well, I for one don't mean to move, till it gets a bit cooler. If these fellows want to attack us, they have got the chance, now; and there is no more reason they should do it, three hours hence, than when we are having our breakfast, quietly."

CHAPTER 19: THE BATTLE OF MAIWAND.

The servants were squatting in a circle near their masters, and enjoying their share of the breakfast. The two Syces were Beloochees, the others were men from the Deccan—the regiment having been stationed at Poona, before going up into Afghanistan. Of these, the Syces alone understood the Afghan language.

After the men had finished their meal, Yossouf strolled away by himself into the village. When he returned, Will saw that he wished to speak to him so, rising carelessly from the ground, he walked to the ponies—which were tied up near—and called Yossouf, as if to give him some instructions respecting them.

"Well, Yossouf, what is it? Have you learned anything?"

"No, sir, nothing. But the people no longer speak to me freely. They must have guessed, when they saw me speaking to you, that I was warning you; but I don't think things are right. The children are all in the houses, instead of playing about in the street. A few of the women are standing at their doors, but most of them are inside, too."

"But if the men are thinking of attacking us why shouldn't they do so, at once?"

"There are not above twenty or thirty men here, sahib. They may not think they are strong enough. Perhaps they have sent to some of the villages, for help."

"Likely enough, Yossouf; I did not think of that. Do you go up above the village, and have a good look round. I will try and persuade my friends to be moving."

Yossouf moved off at once; and Will stood for a minute or two, thinking what was the best to do. The position was not pleasant. Yossouf's suspicions might be altogether unfounded; but Will had found him to be so uniformly right, on former occasions, that he did not like to neglect his advice, now. After a little further thought, he joined his companions.

"Come," he said, "we had really better be moving. I believe we are in real danger."

The earnestness with which he spoke roused the others, who were all lying at full length on the ground.

"But as we said before, Gale," Fortescue urged, "why shouldn't they now attack us, if they wanted to? We have been here more than an hour."

"Perhaps they may think we shall all take a nap, after our tiffin," Will replied; "perhaps—as Yossouf thinks—they have sent off to some other villages, for assistance. He has gone up the hillside to look out. Anyhow, I can assure you, I think we had better be moving."

"It is beastly hot," Hammond said, getting up and stretching himself; "but as you are so earnest about it, Gale, perhaps we had better make a move. As you say, you know no end more of these fellows than we do; and you certainly ain't a fellow to get into a funk about nothing.

"Come on, boys, we had better do as Gale tells us."

"That's right," Will said, cheerfully. "And look here, if we get away from here without any disturbance, and find it all right, we can halt again, at the first shady place we come to; and stop there for two or three hours, till it gets cool."

"Wait a moment," he went on, as Hammond was about to order the ponies to be saddled. "Just let us settle what we had best do, should they attack us; which, if they mean it, they will do when they see we are moving off.

"I have been thinking it over. We have all got bullets in our pockets, to drop into our guns over the shot, in case of necessity. But these smooth-bore fowling pieces are of no good, except at close quarters; while the Afghan matchlocks will carry straight, a long way. Therefore, if we had to make a running fight of it, we should get the worst of it; for these fellows could keep up with us, easily—besides, there are the servants. Therefore, if a shot is fired, my advice is that we should make a dash at the chief's house. Seize that, and hold it."

"Yes, that would be a good plan," Fortescue said, for they were all sobered now, by Will's gravity; and convinced that there must be good grounds for his belief in danger.

"Look here, Gale, we are all senior to you in the date of our commissions, but you have seen no end of service and adventure; therefore I vote that you shall be commanding officer, until we get back to camp."

The others willingly agreed.

"Very well," Will said, "I will do my best.

"Hammond, will you tell your servant to get ready for a start, at once. Speak to him quietly and carelessly. Then, as the men move up more towards the ponies, tell them—in Hindustanee—to go about their work quietly but, in case of any trouble with the Afghans, to out with their swords, and join us in a rush at the chief's house."

Hammond carried out his instructions. The two Beloochees were not taken by surprise; for they, as well as Yossouf, had been feeling uneasy at the disappearance of all women and children from the scene. The other men looked startled; but they were stout fellows and, as all the native servants, were armed with swords, to enable them to resist sudden attacks by the country people; and as they had unbounded faith in their masters, they went about the work of packing up the plates and dishes, and preparing for a start, quietly enough.

As the Syces began to put the saddles on the tats, the Afghans spoke quickly and angrily together. Two or three minutes later, Yossouf arrived. He had evidently been running, for his breath came quick; but he now walked forward in a leisurely way.

"Two large parties are coming, master; one down the valley, and the other across the hills. They have got flags with them, and I am sure they are going to attack us."

Just at this moment an Afghan lad joined his seniors, and spoke rapidly to them. Will judged at once that he also had been placed on the watch. The chief of the village, accompanied by two or three of his men, now stepped forward.

"Ask the sahibs," he said to Yossouf, "why they are in such a hurry—why they want to start in the heat of the day? They had better wait till it is cooler."

Will did not wait for Yossouf's translation, but answered direct:

"We have duties at the camp, and must return at once."

The chief was surprised that one of the young officers should speak his tongue so fluently.

"It looks as if you were not pleased with the hospitality of our village," he said, "that you should hurry away so quickly."

"We are content with it—so far—but we must be off, now.

"Bring up the ponies quickly," he said to Yossouf. "Never mind those things, there is not a moment to be lost."

Yossouf and the servants brought up the ponies. The chief laid his hand on one of the bridles, and drew a pistol.

"Kaffir dogs," he said, "you shall not leave us, at all."

Will's hand was already on his revolver and, before the chief could level his pistol, he fired; and the Afghan fell dead.

There was a shout of rage from the others, and their long matchlocks were leveled It was well the party were prepared, or all might have been shot down, at once; but the instant Will fired, his friends raised their double-barreled guns to their shoulders and let fly the contents among the Afghans who—thrown into confusion by the sudden and unexpected attack—fired wildly, several of them dropping, from the effects of the shot.

"Now," Will shouted, "to the house, everyone of you!"

There was a rush and, before the Afghans knew what had happened, the little party had burst through those standing at the door of the house, and had barred and bolted it within. There were but two men inside; and these, running upstairs, leaped from the windows. A wild screaming was heard from the women and children.

"Yossouf, tell these women that we don't want to hurt them; but that they must be silent, and keep the children quiet, We have got enough to think about without this frightful row, inside. Then, when you have got them quiet, put them all in one room together, upstairs, and keep guard at the door. See that none of them leave the room; for they might steal down and open the door, to admit their friends, while we are busy.

"What! Fortescue, are you hit?"

"I am done for!" the young officer replied, faintly; "one of their bullets has gone through my body; but never mind me, now."

As he spoke he tottered, and would have fallen; had not the others supported him, and gently laid him down on a heap of skins, which served as an Afghan bed. Then—leaving his servant to attend to him, for a minute—the others ran upstairs, to see what was going on, without.

"Be careful!" Will exclaimed. "Don't show a head above the roof, or at a loophole, or you will get a bullet in your brain, to a certainty. Stand well back, so that they can't see you."

Already a pattering fire of musketry had broken out, round the house; but not an Afghan was to be seen, every man having taken his position in shelter.

"There is nothing to do, at present," Will said. "When the other parties arrive, they may make an attack; but I don't think they will do so, till night.

"Hammond, you had better go down to Fortescue, at present. One of the Syces can take Yossouf's place on guard over the women, and he can help you. The lad is a good nurse, but I fear there is nothing to be done for the poor fellow."

A few minutes later a wild outburst of shouts and yells, and a great firing of guns, announced that the other parties had arrived; and the cracking fire of the matchlocks around the fort became incessant. The defenders did not attempt to return it. It would only have been throwing away lives, uselessly, to approach any of the loopholes. In a quarter of an hour, Hammond rejoined his companions.

"He is gone, poor fellow!" he said. "He never spoke again. The bullet went close to the heart. I think he has bled to death, internally.

"I have handed his revolver to one of the Syces, and his gun to the other. Your man, Yossouf, has a revolver."

"What on earth are we to do now, Gale?" Plater asked. "You have been right thus far and, if it hadn't been for you putting us up to make a rush here, we should have been done for, long ago. But we are not much better off; for here we are, cooped up, and the betting is a hundred to one against our being rescued, in time. No one will know where to look for us and, though we may beat them off two or three times, in the end it is likely to go hard with us."

"Couldn't we send a messenger, with the news of the fix we are in?" Lowther asked; "though I don't see how any one is to get through."

"That's what I have been thinking about, ever since I first planned coming here," Will said; "but I am sure no one could get through. The Afghans know the importance of it and, when it gets dark, they will be so thick round the place that a mouse couldn't make its way through them, unobserved."

The situation was gloomy enough; but there was no lack of good spirits among the young officers, the danger causing their blood to course rapidly through their veins. Will sat on the floor, apart from the others. They had made him their commanding officer, and the responsibility of thinking for them devolved upon his shoulders.

Suddenly a thought struck him, and he leaped to his feet, with a shout.

"I've got it!"

"You will get it, if you don't mind," Hammond said, dryly; as a bullet passed through one of the loopholes, and struck the wall an inch or two from Will's head. "But what is it?"

"When it gets quite dusk we will call a parley, and tell them we don't want to keep the women here. They are only in our way, and eat up the food; so we will open the door, and let them go."

"But what will you do that for, Gale? You were saying, a short time ago, that the women could be kept as hostages."

"So they might, Hammond; but it will be more useful to us to let them go. There are seven women here. Six of them shall go out; and with them, in the clothes of the seventh, Yossouf."

"Capital! Capital!" the others exclaimed. "Don't you think they will notice him?"

"No," Will said, "we won't do it till dusk, and some of these women are as tall as he is. They will hurry them away as quickly as possible, so as to recommence the attack and, wrapped up as these Afghan women are, no one could see the difference. Once fairly away, we can trust Yossouf for finding an opportunity of slipping away, and bringing us help."

Will now laid the plan before Yossouf, who at once agreed to attempt it. The day passed slowly, the fire of the enemy being kept up, without intermission.

"Now," Will said at last, "it is getting dark enough, let us put the plan into operation. In the first place the women must be separated, and taken into separate rooms; the one Yossouf has fixed upon, as nearest his height, into a room by herself. Then Yossouf must tell the old mother of the chief that they are to be released; and that she must show herself on the roof, and make them stop firing, till they have gone out. While she is doing that, he can slip down and dress himself in the robes of the woman. She must be gagged, to prevent her screaming, or making a row, as her companions go out."

Greatly surprised was the old woman, at being told that she was to be released. These Kaffirs must be mad, she thought, to give up their hostages. However, she at once proceeded to carry the orders into effect.

Before raising her head above the roof, she uttered a loud quavering cry—the cry of welcome of the Afghan women. The firing without instantly ceased. Again raising the cry, she stepped out on to the roof; and shouted that the English did not want to keep the women, and that the door would be open for them to come out—providing the Afghans promised that no attempt to enter should be made, and that none should move from their present places, until the women had fairly left.

There was a shout of surprise and satisfaction; and one of the chiefs rose to his feet, and gave the promise in the name of his companions.

"How many are there of you?" he asked.

"Seven," the woman answered.

"Are the children to come?"

"We may take away the babies, but the three boys are to remain behind."

Five minutes later the door of the fort opened, and seven figures came out. Not a shot was heard, until they had passed down the street of the village, and had entered a house at the further end; then the rapid fire commenced again. Twice, during the evening, did the Afghans attempt to storm the little fort, but were each time repulsed, with loss; the fire of the five double-barreled guns—loaded with shot and bullets—and of the revolvers proving too much for them.

The second attack was made about eleven. A quarter of an hour later, wild shouts were heard outside. There was an instant cessation of the enemy's fire; and then, in the silence, the deep thundering sound of galloping horses was heard.

"Hurrah!" Will shouted, "here they are."

A minute later, the Third Bombay Cavalry dashed up to the fort. The door was thrown open, and the little garrison ran out.

"All safe?" the officer in command asked.

"All safe, except Fortescue—who was killed at the first attack."

"So we heard, from your boy," the officer said. "He has ridden back with us, as guide.

"Now, lads, dismount and clear the village. Shoot every man you find, turn the women out of the houses, and then set them on fire. Don't waste any time over it, for the rascals are swarming round the place.

"Captain Lawson, you take your troop and dismount it as skirmishers, round the place; and keep them off, till we have done here.

"Here, you four men who brought the powder kegs, carry them inside this fort. We are going to blow it up, to give them a lesson."

Ten minutes later, the cavalry were again in their saddles. Spare horses had been brought for the four officers; and the servants mounted the tats, which would be able to keep up with the cavalry. The flames were already bursting out brightly from the houses.

The yells of the Afghans rose high, and their bullets flew thickly over the village; but they kept at a respectful distance. The officer in command gave the word, and the party set off at a trot. Before they had left the village a deep roar was heard, and they knew that the Afghan fort was destroyed. Two hours later they arrived safely in camp; where the four rescued officers were warmly congratulated, on their narrow escape, by their friends.

On the 14th of July, the conspiracy among the Wali's troops came to a head. They openly mutinied; and marched out, with their cannon and arms, from the camp. This was situated at a short distance from that of the British, and Colonel Ripon was the first to gallop in with the news.

Unfortunately, the British commander was not a man endowed with promptness of decision; and no steps were taken, until the mutineers had proceeded a considerable distance. Then the cavalry and artillery were despatched, in pursuit. Had the order been given at once, there can be no doubt that the Wali's force would have been completely cut up; and those who escaped would have arrived a mere horde of fugitives, for the most part without arms, at Ayoub's camp.

Late as was the pursuit it was not ineffectual. Six British guns opened fire upon the Wali's artillery—which was in rear of the retreating column—with such effect that the gunners were seized with a panic and, cutting the traces, fled for their lives. A good many were cut down by the British cavalry, and the six guns deserted by them were brought into camp.

Colonel Burrows' little force now stood alone; for he had with him but 1500 infantry, 500 cavalry, and six of his own guns, besides those taken from the mutineers—a force altogether disproportioned to that with which Ayoub was advancing; swelled, as it was, by the accession of the Wali's army. A message was sent to General Primrose at Candahar, asking for reinforcements; but that officer, although he had a considerable force at his disposal, declined to despatch any reinforcements, whatever.

News now arrived that Ayoub, instead of marching direct upon Girishk, had crossed the Helmund higher up; and was moving across the country, by a line parallel with the road from Candahar to Girishk. By this movement he would have the option of placing himself either between Colonel Burrows' force and Candahar; of marching direct upon the latter city; or of keeping to the north, and coming down upon the road between Candahar and Shahpur, and then marching direct for Cabul. Under these circumstances General Burrows determined to fall back, at once, to a spot where he might oppose Ayoub's advancing force. Accordingly, the brigade marched from the Helmund to a village called Khusk-I-Nakhud, and there encamped. General Nuttal, with the cavalry, made reconnaissances in the direction of the enemy.

The people of the country held altogether aloof, and no accurate information was obtained as to the strength of Ayoub's army; which was believed, by General Burrows, to be very much smaller than it really was. Early in the morning of the 26th, it was known that Ayoub was marching upon Maiwand—a village farther to the north—and at half-past six, the troops moved out to intercept him.

It was at this time believed that it was only the enemy's cavalry with whom we should have to deal. Upon arriving near Maiwand, however, news was brought in, by spies, that the whole of the enemy were at hand. The force was at once halted, in a position singularly ill-adapted for a fighting ground. Deep ravines ran both to the right, and to the left, of the ground occupied by the British. By these, the enemy could advance under shelter, until within a short distance. On either side were ranges of hills, completely commanding the position.

It is difficult to imagine a more unsuitable position than that which General Burrows prepared to hold, with a mere handful of troops, against an enormously superior force. What was the total strength of Ayoub's army was never exactly known—as it was swollen by enormous numbers of Ghazis, and tribesmen from the villages. These were, in fact, far more formidable opponents than the regular Afghan troops; as their tremendous rushes, and indifference to the loss inflicted upon them, were trying in the extreme for even the best-trained troops to withstand.

The morning was thick, and but little could be seen of Ayoub's army. His cavalry, indeed, were found to be moving about in large masses; but these fell back, at our advance. Lieutenant Maclean—with two horse artillery guns, and a small cavalry escort—galloped out on the extreme left, and opened fire on the Afghan cavalry. His infantry at once appeared in force, swarming down towards the guns; and these were withdrawn, to a position nearer to our line.

The British infantry were formed in the following order: the 66th were on the right, the Bombay Grenadiers in the center, and Jacob's Rifles on the left. Two guns were placed in position to support the 66th, on the right. The remaining four British guns, and the six smooth-bore guns—captured from the Wali's mutineers—were placed between the Grenadiers and Jacob's Rifles. The 3rd Scinde Horse and 3rd Bombay Light Cavalry were formed in the rear of the line.

As the enemy advanced, our guns opened a heavy fire upon them; but it was fully an hour before their artillery replied. Then thirty guns were unmasked, and opened fire upon the British line. Under cover of this heavy fire, swarms of the enemy's irregulars advanced towards our position. When within 600 or 700 yards of the 66th, the British opened with their Martini rifles; and the shower of lead, at such an unexpected distance, checked the advance of the enemy.

For some time the artillery duel continued; but the enemy's guns were then moved on to the hills, on either side of the British position, and a terrible crossfire was opened from both flanks. At about two o'clock, the smooth-bore guns began to get short of ammunition. Only sixty rounds had been captured with them and, there being no reserve of ammunition fitting them, they ceased fire.

The position now became most serious. From the ravines on either side the Ghazis swarmed up, in vast numbers. The artillery thundered from the heights upon our troops. Some of their batteries were brought up to within very short distances; and great numbers of the enemy, keeping along the ravines sheltered from our fire, came up in the rear and seized the villages there.

The companies of Jacob's Rifles on the left; after resisting, for some time, the furious attacks of the Ghazis, began to waver. The enemy's cavalry swept down in heavy masses; while our cavalry—for some reason which has never been explained—remained inactive. The general has stated that he ordered them to charge, but that they would not do so; the cavalry affirm that they never received orders. Anyhow, at this critical moment the 3rd Scinde Horse and the 3rd Bombay Cavalry remained inactive.

The confusion amid Jacob's Rifles rapidly grew, in spite of the efforts of the officers to rally them. The Ghazis swept down upon them; and the Rifles broke in confusion, and rushed among the Bombay Grenadiers who—hitherto fighting steadily—also fell into confusion, as the Rifles and Ghazis burst into their ranks.

"This is hot work," Will Gale said to his captain, when the enemy's guns, on the heights on either side, began to play on the line of the 66th with their flank fire.

"It is, indeed," the officer answered, "and the fire of the enemy, from the edge of that ravine, is very trying. I wish to heaven the general would move us farther back. He has made a hideous mistake in fighting on such ground as this."

"It would be difficult to withdraw, now," Will said. "It would shake the confidence of the men. I think, myself, that we ought to advance, and drive the enemy before us, till we take up some really defensible position; but I doubt if the Afghans would wait for that. In all our history, a British charge against an Indian enemy has always been successful, no matter how great the odds."

"It is a bad lookout," the captain said, as a shell burst close by him, killing and wounding five or six men. "It is quite evident that if we stay where we are we must, in time, be annihilated. Our fellows will stand, no doubt; they are English soldiers, and well officered. But how can one expect the two Indian regiments—with only three or four white officers, each—to remain steady, under such a fire as this, and with these desperate charges of Ghazis upon them?"

Very steadily the 66th held their ground, in spite of a flanking fire of artillery and musketry. Every time the enemy gathered at the edge of the ravine, for a rush, the heavy fire of the company on the flank—which was wheeled back at a right angle to the line, so as to face them—drove them back to shelter again. The regiment had suffered very heavily. Still, the officers felt that they could endure, till nightfall.

Of victory, there was now no idea; for to conquer, men must act and, here, they were only called upon to suffer. Presently a wild tumult was heard to the left; and then the men of the scattered native regiments burst, in a tumultuous mass, into the ranks of the 66th.

"Steady, men, steady!" shouted the officers.

But it was of no avail. All was in hopeless confusion. The artillery fired, until the Ghazis were within a few yards of them; then they hastily limbered up, and fell back. But the Ghazis were too close at hand, and two of the guns were lost.

Even now, had the cavalry charged upon the Afghans, time would have been given to the broken infantry to form again into a solid mass, and to draw off from the field in good order. But the cavalry remained inactive. Both these regiments had a record of good service in the field; but their conduct, on this occasion, was little short of disgraceful.

Among the infantry all order was lost and, mixed up in a confused mass, hemmed in on all sides by the enemy, they fell back—each man fighting for himself—upon the village behind. Here, in the walled enclosures, the 66th and the Grenadiers rallied, and fought nobly. Each house was used as a fortress, and only carried after a desperate struggle. Here Colonel Galbraith, and nine other officers of the 66th were killed; and the greater portion of the regiment shared their fate.

Some bodies of the troops—entirely cut off from the rest, in their retreat—stood their ground in the open, and fought desperately to the end; surrounding themselves, ere they died, with a ring of slaughtered enemies. So desperate was the defense in some cases that—outnumbering them fifty to one—the enemy never dared to come to close quarters with the gallant band; which kept up a rain of fire on them, till the last man had fallen. So long and stoutly was the village defended, that the great majority of the broken fugitives had time to pass out behind.

General Burrows—who had done his best to stem the rout—drew off the shattered remains; and fell back with them, in fair order.

Will Gale's company was in the right flank of the regiment and, therefore, farthest from the point where the line was broken by the rush of the native troops. Seeing what was taking place, the captain formed his men into company square; and fell back to the village, in fair order. The company then threw itself into a house, with a walled garden, to the right of the village; and its steady fire, in no slight degree, helped to keep back the Afghans, and cover the retreat. This they did, until General Burrows himself rode up, and ordered them to fall in.

"Your company has done good service, sir," he said to Captain Fletcher; "and it is for you, now, to cover the retreat."

Slowly and in good order the company fell back and, joining the troops who still retained their formation, retired slowly; facing about, and pouring volley after volley into the Afghans, as they came out through the village. For two miles, the enemy pressed closely upon them; but their loss had already been immense, and all desired to join in the plundering of the British camp. Therefore the pursuit slackened and, three miles from the village, the rear guard were ordered to the main body, at quick march.

CHAPTER 20: CANDAHAR.

"Thank God that is over," Captain Fletcher said, as he lifted his cap and wiped the perspiration from his forehead; "but the regiment is almost annihilated."

"I fear the worst is yet to come," Will said. "We are fifty miles from Candahar; and when we came out we had to carry water with us, for there was none to be found, on the way. We have a fearful march before us.

"What on earth has become of the cavalry? They have done nothing to cover the retreat."

"They have ridden on ahead," the captain said, bitterly, "without having drawn a sword in this day's fight; and will ride into Candahar tomorrow morning, without losing a man, save the few who were knocked over by the artillery."

Presently an officer rode up.

"Ah! Gale," he exclaimed, "thank God you are safe. I rode back to see."

And Colonel Ripon shook hands warmly with the young officer.

"I am glad to see that you are safe, sir," Will answered. "This has been a terrible day."

"It has, indeed," the colonel said, mournfully, "terrible! There has been nothing like it, since the retreat from Cabul in 1848. And how many of these poor fellows will reach Candahar, God only knows! The water bottles wore emptied, hours ago. The men are already exhausted with the long day's work, and parched with thirst; and we have fifty miles' tramp before us. Have you any wounded men here with you?"

"Several, sir, some of them badly hurt."

"Put one of the worst on my horse," Colonel Ripon said, dismounting; "and push on briskly, lads. There are some carts ahead. We will turn out the stores, and put the wounded in.

"You had better let the men throw away their knapsacks, and all useless encumbrances," he said to Captain Fletcher. "You will have to march—and perhaps fight—all night; and must husband your strength."

Steadily, the rear guard followed the broken column. It consisted of men of the 60th and Grenadiers, mingled together; and well did they carry out their arduous duties. A portion were thrown out on each flat, while the rest kept to the road. This was strewn with arms and accouterments of all kinds. The men's hearts were wrung to the core, by the sight of the number of wounded who had dropped by the roadside; and who implored them, as they passed, not to leave them to be murdered by the enemy. Many of them were lifted and placed in carts—everything else being turned out, to make way for them—but many had to be left behind; for it would be impossible to carry them, on such a march.

Slowly the long night passed. All along the line ahead, a scattered fire of musketry could be heard; as the villagers shot down the fugitives who, in hopes of finding water, straggled from the road. Sometimes sharp volleys rang out, as the troops stood at bay, and drove back the natives, when they pressed upon them. Several times the rear guard were hotly engaged as the Afghans—furious at seeing their prey slipping from their fingers—mustered and fell upon them; but each time they were repulsed, and the column held on its way.

Will was in command of a mixed band, of some forty men, which moved to the right of the road. Colonel Ripon kept by his side, but few words were spoken, through the long night. The men were half mad with thirst and, had there been water near, nothing could have restrained them from rushing to it; but they knew that none could be obtained, until they reached Candahar. Many, in utter despair at the distance before them, threw themselves down on the ground to die. But the others kept on—stumbling and staggering as they marched, stupid and half blind—rallying only when the order came to turn, and repulse the enemy.

Two or three times in the night the rear guard halted, for a few minutes; and the men threw themselves down on the sand, where they picked the scattered herbage within their reach, and chewed it to quench their burning thirst.

Daylight was a welcome relief. They knew indeed that, with the rising of the sun, their torments would grow still greater; but the change from the long dreary darkness cheered them; and they could now see, from the nature of the country, that they were within fifteen miles of Candahar. They marched on for two more hours, and then the officer in command of the little body saw that they could do no more.

He therefore led them to a village on rising ground, a short distance from the road, and halted them there. The exhausted men threw themselves down in the shade of the houses. They had the long day yet to pass, and their thirst seemed unendurable; still, the halt was welcome, for there was not a man but felt that his strength was at an end, and that it would have been an impossibility to reach the city.

Captain Fletcher picked out a few of the least exhausted men, and placed them in the outskirts of the village to call the rest to arms in case the Afghans—numbers of whom were hovering round—should venture upon an attack. For the first hour after reaching the village, not a man moved from the spot where he had thrown himself down. The officers had searched the houses, and found some jars of water. These they carried round, and doled out a few mouthfuls to each man. Small though the amount was, the relief afforded was immense and, as soon as their first exhaustion had subsided, the men scattered through the gardens; plucking the vine leaves and chewing them and, fortunately, discovering a few gourds, which were cut up into small fragments, and divided.

The day wore on; and at one o'clock there was a shout of joy, for a body of cavalry were seen approaching, at a rapid trot, from the town. Soon they rode up, and proved to be a regiment which had been despatched, from the town, for the relief of the stragglers. At daybreak the cavalry, riding in many miles ahead of the infantry, brought the news to the city of the defeat; and something very like a panic at first ensued. It was some time before anything was done to succor the exhausted fugitives, who were pressing forward to the city. But at last a force was sent out with wagons, and bullocks with water-skins; and thus hundreds of lives, which would otherwise have been sacrificed, were saved. The cavalry had come out with full water bottles, and relief was soon afforded to the worn-out rear guard, who at once fell into rank, and resumed their march towards Candahar; the cavalry, who had brought a few light carts with them, pursuing their journey for some distance further, to succor and collect those who had fallen on the road.

The sun was just setting as the rear guard of General Burrows' brigade reached Candahar; after having marched, since the previous morning, sixty miles without food, and with only a few mouthfuls of water; and having fought for nearly twenty-four hours of that time.

Every preparation was made, in the city, for the expected attack. The defenses were strengthened; the lower portion of the populace—who would be likely to declare against them—were turned out of the town; and provisions were collected from the country round. Fortunately, ample time was afforded them for these preparations. Ayoub's army had been, to a great extent, demoralized by the tremendous losses which it had sustained, in the defeat of this handful of British troops; and some days elapsed before it moved forward from Maiwand. Then, by easy marches, it approached Candahar; and took up its position in the plain, to the north of the city.

Just as the rear guard of General Burrows' force were starting from their halting place, for their last march into the city, Will Gale was delighted at seeing Yossouf approaching. He had not seen him since the regiment marched out from Khusk-I-Nakhud. The young Afghan had remained, with the other followers, in the village behind Maiwand during the battle when, while the resistance of the British was still continuing, the Afghans had worked round by the ravines and entered the village.

Yossouf had been obliged to join in the retreat, which was at once commenced by the baggage train. Full of anxiety for the fate of his master, he had hurried forward at his best speed to Candahar; reaching the city only an hour or two after the arrival of the cavalry. In spite of the distance he had already performed, he did not delay for an instant; but set out again with some provisions, and a bottle of wine, and one of water hidden away in his dress. He had resolved to push forward, at all hazards, until he had either joined his master—whether on his retreat, or as a prisoner in Ayoub's army—or had discovered his body on the field of battle, and given him burial.

Passing through the throng of fugitives, and questioning any of the men of the 66th he met, he made his way forward. He had learned that Will's company had withdrawn, in a body, from the battlefield to the village but, further than this, none of the fugitives could tell him; and his delight was exuberant, when he saw Will marching along with his company. The little supply which he had brought was at once served out, among the men who most needed it; and Will—who had been in a state of great uneasiness concerning the safety of his faithful follower—was greatly cheered by finding him alive, and unhurt.

The news of the defeat of Maiwand produced an immense sensation, in India; and measures were at once taken for the relief of Candahar. A strong division was ordered to march from Cabul, through Ghuzni; while General Phayre, who commanded the force at Quettah, was also ordered to advance to the assistance of the garrison.

General Phayre, however—although comparatively close to Candahar—was unable to advance, for some time. The same miserable economy which had dispersed the transport train, after the signature of the Treaty of Gundamuk; and had so delayed the advance of General Roberts towards Cabul, after the massacre of the mission, again paralyzed the action of the British troops—the whole of the transport train, collected at so much cost and difficulty, having been dismissed to their homes, as soon as the negotiations with Abdul-Rahman held out a prospect of peace. Many weeks elapsed before a sufficient number of baggage animals could be collected to enable General Phayre to advance, with his relieving column.

In Candahar, things passed quietly. The enemy, from time to time, fired shot and shell into the city from distant positions but, believing that no relief could reach the garrison before the supplies of food were exhausted, and that it must therefore yield to hunger, Ayoub's army contented themselves by watching the city from a distance; and by keeping a cordon of troops round its walls, to prevent the country people from bringing in provisions.

Detached bodies, indeed, often crept up near the walls; and kept up a musketry fire at any troops showing themselves, there. But no attempts were made to batter down the walls, or to make anything like a resolute assault. Ayoub's army had, indeed, greatly lost heart. If 1500 British soldiers, attacked under circumstances of the greatest disadvantage, had killed 6000 or 7000 of their assailants; what might not be the slaughter which a greatly superior force would inflict, when sheltered behind stone walls?

From one village, situate half a mile from the eastern gate of the city, so constant and harassing a fire was maintained, by the enemy, that General Primrose resolved to make a sortie, to capture it. The affair was, however, badly planned, and resulted in failure. The Afghans—sheltered in the strongly-built houses—kept up so severe a fire upon the assailants that these were obliged to fall back, with a considerable loss. After that, no further sorties were attempted; and the city remained in quiet, until the relieving columns were close at hand.

The force selected to march from Cabul to the relief of Candahar, under the command of General Roberts, consisted of the 92nd Highlanders, 23rd Pioneers, 24th and 25th Punjaub Infantry; the 2nd, 4th, and 5th Ghoorkas; the 72nd Highlanders, 2nd battalion of the 60th, the Norfolk Rangers; the 2rd, 3rd, and 15th Sikhs. There were three batteries of artillery, and four cavalry regiments: the 9th Lancers, the 3rd Bengal Cavalry, the 3rd Punjaub Cavalry, and the Central India Horse. This gave a total of about 10,000 fighting men. There were, in addition, 8000 followers to feed, 7000 horses, and some 8000 transport and artillery mules, and ponies.

The Ameer did his best to assist the force; which was, indeed, going to fight his battle, as well as their own. The question was whether so large a force would be able to subsist on the road and, in order to assist them to do so, he sent orders to all the tribes along the line of march to aid the column, in every way. In consequence, no difficulties were met with; and scarce a shot was fired on the way down.

In seven days after starting Ghuzni was reached, and in fifteen Khelat-I-Ghilzai—where Colonel Tanner, with a small garrison, had been besieged by the local tribes since the advance of Ayoub. Khelat-I-Ghilzai stood near the lower end of the valley down which the column was advancing, and was but three days' march from Candahar. From the day of their leaving Cabul, to their arrival at Khelat-I-Ghilzai, the troops had marched a distance of fifteen miles a day—not an extraordinary distance for a single regiment to perform, but a wonderful feat for a force containing some 18,000 persons and 9000 baggage animals, marching through mountains and valleys.

As the relieving force approached Candahar, Ayoub drew off his troops from around the city; and took up a strong position on some hills, a few miles to the north. On the 27th of August Roberts' cavalry were near enough to establish heliographic communication with the town and, on the 31st, the column entered Candahar.

During the siege, the duties of the garrison had been heavy. A strong force was always held ready to get under arms, instantly, in case of an attack by the enemy. The number of sentries on the walls, magazines, and lower important points was large. The town had to be kept in order, and the inhabitants strictly watched. House-to-house requisitions were made for provisions; and the greatest economy was used in the distribution of these, as the garrison had no means of knowing how long a time might elapse before any could arrive.

The death of ten officers of the 66th—all of senior standing to himself—had placed Will Gale at the top of the list of lieutenants and, as several officers were disabled by wounds, he was now performing captain's duty, and was in charge of a company. There were, indeed, but three companies now in the 66th Regiment; so great having been the loss, that the whole of the survivors now made up but this number.

Among the other duties of the troops was that of protecting the many houses which had been left vacant, by the hasty retirement of many of the native merchants and traders, at the approach of Ayoub's force. Colonel Primrose—anxious to lessen the number of mouths to be fed—encouraged the exodus; promising to take charge of all property left behind. This duty proved a troublesome one, as the lower class—which still remained in the city—were constantly endeavoring to break into, and loot, the houses thus left vacant by their proprietors. In order to protect these as much as possible, many of the officers were directed to move from their quarters in the barracks, and take up their residence in them; an order which was gladly obeyed, as the exchange, from hot confined quarters to the roomy dwellings of the merchants, was a very pleasant one.

Will Gale was one of those who so moved and, with Yossouf and two native followers, had been quartered in the house of a wealthy silk merchant. One night, he was aroused from sleep by Yossouf.

"Sahib!" the latter whispered, "I hear people moving below. I think there are thieves in the house."

Will rose noiselessly, slipped on his trousers and shoes and—taking up a revolver in one hand, and a sword in another—stole downstairs; followed by Yossouf, with his long Afghan knife in his hand. The door of the warehouse was open; and within it Will saw, by the faint light of a lamp which one of them carried, four Afghan ruffians engaged in making up silks into large bundles, in readiness to carry off. His approach was unnoticed; and on reaching the door he leveled his pistol, and shouted to the Afghans to surrender, as his prisoners.

In reply, they dropped the lamp, and made a sudden rush at him. He fired his pistol hastily in the darkness but, in an instant, the Afghans were upon him. The first man he cut down, but he was knocked over by the rush of the others. Two fell upon him; but Yossouf bounded upon them like a tiger, and buried his knife to the hilt in their backs, in quick succession. The last of the party—without staying to see what was the fate of his friends—at once took to his heels and, rushing to the door leading to the street, made his escape.

Yossouf raised Will to his feet,

"Are you hurt?" he asked, anxiously.

"Nothing to speak of," Will replied. "I am a bit shaken, and bruised by the fall. Those fellows, in the darkness, were upon me before I could see them.

"Thanks to you, I have escaped without hurt, Yossouf; and had it not been for your aid, they would assuredly have made an end of me. My pistol had fallen from my hand as they knocked me down and, on the ground, I could not have defended myself with my sword, for an instant. Once more, Yossouf, I owe my life to you."

So many attempts, similar to that made upon the house occupied by Will Gale, took place that sentries were posted, at ten o'clock at night, at the entrances to the various streets in which the houses left deserted by the native traders were situated; and orders were given that no natives should be out of their houses, after that hour, unless provided with a pass signed by the commandant of the city.

Several messengers were from time to time sent out, to endeavor to get through the enemy's, lines and to carry to General Phayre the news of what was going on in the city. A few of these succeeded in getting through, but none returned; so that, until the signal lights were seen flashing from the distant hills, in the direction of Khelat-I-Ghilzai, the garrison were unaware of the steps which were being taken for their rescue. Even had unforeseen obstacles prevented the advent of either of the relieving columns, it is probable that the garrison of Candahar would finally have freed itself. Colonel Primrose had, at his disposal, a force more than double that which had fought at Maiwand; and had the British advanced into the plain, and offered battle to Ayoub on a fair fighting ground they should, without difficulty, have defeated his army; whose long delays and hesitation showed how immensely their morale had been affected by the previous battle.

Thus it was that Sale—after sustaining a long siege in Jellalabad—finally sallied out, and completely defeated the besieging army, before the arrival of the force marching to his relief. The Candahar force was not commanded by a Sale but, had it been given a chance to retrieve Maiwand, there can be little doubt of what the issue would have been. Over and over again, the subject was discussed at the messes of the various regiments; and immense indignation was felt at the force being kept cooped up in Candahar, when the history of India recorded scores of examples of victories won, by British troops, against greater odds than those now opposed to them.

It must be said, however, that the native portion of the army, in Candahar, was of very inferior fighting quality to that which operated in Eastern Afghanistan. Those regiments were, for the most part, either Ghoorkas, Sikhs, or Punjaubees—than whom no braver men exist. The Ghoorkas are small, active men; mountaineers by birth, and to whom war is a passion. The Sikhs and Punjaubees, upon the contrary, are tall, stately men; proud of the historical fighting powers of their race. They had fought with extreme bravery against the English but, once conquered, they became true and faithful subjects of the English crown; and it was their fidelity and bravery which saved England, in the dark days of the mutiny.

The Bombay troops, upon the other hand, were drawn from races which had long ceased to be warlike. They possessed none of the dash and fire of the hardier troops; their organization was—and still is—defective; and the system of officering them was radically bad. The contrast between the two was strongly shown, in the conduct of the Sikh and Ghoorka regiments with General Stewart, when attacked by the sudden rush of the Ghazis, at Ahmed Khil; and that of the Bombay Grenadiers and Jacob's Foot, under precisely similar circumstances at Maiwand.

There is no doubt, however, that the main reason why General Primrose did not sally out and give battle on the plain of Candahar was that, in case of defeat, the populace of the city would assuredly have closed their gates against the army; and that nothing would have remained but a disastrous retreat across the Kojak Pass—a retreat of which very few would ever have survived to tell.

Their enforced idleness, in Candahar, made the time pass slowly and heavily; and it was with the greatest joy that the garrison hailed the entry of the columns of General Roberts.

Upon his arrival the general lost no time in reconnoitering the position of the enemy. It was well chosen for defense His army was encamped behind the range of hills known as the Baba-Wali Hills. A road ran direct over these hills; and here a strong force was stationed, supported by artillery in position. The last hill of the range, on the southwest, was known as the Pir-Paimal Hill; and by turning this the camp of Ayoub's army would be taken in flank, and the defenses in front rendered useless. The reconnaissance which was made by the cavalry; supported by the 15th Sikhs, advanced close to the central hill. The enemy unmasked five guns and opened upon them, and the Afghans poured down to the attack. There was, however, no intention on the part of the British commander of bringing on a battle; and the troops accordingly fell back, in good order, to the main body.

A mile and a half from the city stood a low ridge of rock—called the Picket Hill—in the line by which the column would have to move, to turn the Pir-Paimal Hill; and this was at once seized. A number of Ghazis stationed here fought, as usual, desperately; but the 4th Ghoorkas repulsed their charge, and cleared the ridge of the enemy. The general determined to attack the enemy's position with his whole force, on the following day.

CHAPTER 21: THE BATTLE OF CANDAHAR.

The plan of action upon which General Roberts determined was simple. The 1st and 2nd brigade were to advance abreast, the 3rd to follow in support. As the 66th were to take no part in the fight, Will Gale obtained leave to ride out with General Weatherby, with the 3rd division.

The enemy were well aware of the weak point of the position which they occupied; and they had mustered thickly in the plain, in which were several villages; with canals cutting up the ground in all directions, and abounding with hedges, ditches, and enclosures—altogether, a very strongly defensible position.

It was at 10 o'clock, on the 1st of September, that the British force advanced. The first division, on the right, advanced against the large walled village of Gundi, which was strongly held by the enemy. Against this General Macpherson sent the 92nd and the 2nd Ghoorkas and, stubbornly as the enemy fought, the place was carried by the bayonet.

On the line taken by the 2nd division—under General Baker—three villages had successively to be carried: Abasabad, Kaghanary, and Gundigan. The 72nd Highlanders and the 2nd Sikhs advanced to the attack of these. The resistance of the Afghans was stubborn in the extreme, but they were driven out. The fighting line of the two divisions kept abreast and, for two miles, had to fight every inch of their way; from wall to wall, from garden to garden and, here and there, from house to house and from lane to lane.

Once or twice the attack was checked, for a few minutes, by the desperate resistance of the Afghans—at the crossing places of canals and in walled enclosures—and again and again, the Ghazis rushed down upon the troops. The 3rd Sikhs and the 5th Ghoorkas joined the fighting line and, step by step, the ground was won; until the base of the hill was turned, and the attacking force saw, in front of them, the great camp of Ayoub's troops. Up to this point, the enemy had fought with the greatest bravery; but a sudden panic seized them, now they saw that their line of retreat was threatened by our cavalry—for an Afghan always loses heart, under such circumstances. As if by magic, the defense ceased; and the enemy, horse and foot—abandoning their guns, and throwing away their arms—fled up the Argandab valley. Everything was abandoned.

There was nothing more for the infantry to do but to sack Ayoub's camp, and to park the captive guns, thirty in number. The amount of stores and miscellaneous articles in the camp was enormous: arms, ammunition, commissariat, and ordnance stores; helmets, bullock huts crammed with native wearing apparel, writing materials, Korans, English tinned meats, fruit, and money. Here, in fact, was all the baggage which the army had brought from Herat; together with all the spoil which they had captured at Maiwand.

The cavalry took up the pursuit. Unfortunately they had met with great difficulties, in advancing through the broken country in rear of the infantry. Had they been close at hand, when the latter fought their way into Ayoub's camp, very few of the fugitives would have escaped. As it was, they did good service in following up the rout; and driving the enemy, a dispersed and broken crowd, into the hills.

To the fury of the men they found, in Ayoub's camp, the body of Lieutenant Maclaine; who had been taken prisoner at Maiwand, and who was barbarously murdered, a few minutes before the arrival of the English troops. The battle cost the lives of three officers: Lieutenant Colonel Brownlow, commanding the 72nd Highlanders; Captain Frome, of the same regiment; and Captain Straton, 2nd battalion of the 22nd. Eleven officers were wounded, 46 men were killed, and 202 wounded.

The enemy left 1200 dead on the field. Ayoub's regular regiments scarcely fired a shot, and the British advance had been opposed entirely by the irregulars and Ghazis; the regular regiments having been drawn up behind the Pir-Paimal Pass, by which they expected our main attack to be made—a delusion which was kept up by our heavy fire, from early morning, upon the Afghan guns on the summit of the pass. When our troops appeared round the corner of the spur upon their flank they lost heart at once; and for the most part, throwing away their arms, joined the body of fugitives.

"It would have been hard work, sir," Will Gale said to Colonel Ripon, as they rode forward in rear of the fighting brigade, "to have taken this position with the Candahar force, alone."

"It could not have been done," Colonel Ripon replied, "but no one would have dreamed of attempting it. The Afghans say that the force which Roberts brought down, from Cabul, was so large that they stood on the defensive; but they would have ventured to attack us, had we sallied out and offered battle on the level plain, round the city. Then, I have no doubt we could have beaten them.

"However, all is well that ends well. Roberts has come up in time, and has completely defeated the enemy; still, it would have been more satisfactory had we retrieved Maiwand, by thrashing him single-handed.

"Well, I suppose this is the end of the Afghan war. We have beaten Ayoub: I hope, so effectually that Abdul-Rahman will have no difficulty in dealing with him, in future and, if he really means the professions of friendship which he has made us, we may hope for peace, for some time. Probably the next time we have to fight, in this country, it will be against the Russians and Afghans, united.

"There are men in England who persist in shutting their eyes to the certain consequences of the Russian advance towards the northern frontier of Afghanistan; but the time will come when England will have to rue, bitterly, the infatuation and folly of her rulers. When that day arrives, she will have to make such an effort, to hold her own, as she has never had to do since the days when she stood, alone, in arms against Europe."

Upon the following day, Will paid a visit to his friends in the Rangers.

"So you got through Maiwand safely!" the colonel said. "Upon my word, I begin to think that you have a charmed life.

"I hear one of your captains died, last night. That gives you your step, does it not?"

"Yes, sir."

"You are the luckiest young dog I ever heard of. You got your commission, within a year of enlisting; and now, by an extraordinary fatality, your regiment is almost annihilated; and you mount up, by death steps, to a captain's rank, nine months after the date of your gazette. In any other regiment in the service, you would have been lucky if you had got three or four steps, by this time."

"I am fortunate, indeed, sir," Will said. "I can scarcely believe it, myself."

"Ah! whom do I see here?" the colonel exclaimed, as a mounted officer rode through the camp. "My old friend, Ripon!

"Ah Ripon, how are you?"

The colonel reined in his horse; and the two officers, who had not met for some years, entered into a warm conversation; while Will strolled away to talk to some of the younger officers, who congratulated him most heartily on the luck which had, in a few months, taken him over their heads.

In the afternoon Will received a note from Colonel Ripon, asking him to dine with him, as Colonel Shepherd was going to do so. Will replied that he would gladly dine, but must be excused for a time, afterwards; as he was on duty, and would have to go the rounds, in the evening.

There were three or four other officers at dinner, as Colonel Ripon had many friends in the relieving column. When dinner was over, Will made his excuses and left; promising to look in again, in a couple of hours, when he had finished his rounds. Soon afterwards, the other young officers left. Colonel Shepherd, only, remained.

"That is a singularly fine young fellow—young Gale, I mean," Colonel Shepherd said; "and a singularly fortunate one. I feel quite proud of him. It was upon my advice that he enlisted; but if any one had told me, at the time, that he would be a captain in two years, I should have said that it was absolutely impossible."

"Yes," Colonel Ripon replied, "his luck has been marvelous; but if ever a fellow deserved it, he did. I have a very warm liking—I may say an affection—for him. He saved my life, when I was attacked by some Ghazis here, and must have been killed, had it not been for his promptness, and coolness. He was wounded, too; and we were nursed together, here. Since then I have seen a great deal of him and, the more I see him, the more I like him.

"Do you know anything of him, previous to the time of his enlisting? You told me he joined your regiment, on the day when it arrived at Calcutta. I know nothing of his history, before that. The subject never happened to occur, in conversation; and it was one upon which I naturally should have felt a delicacy in asking any questions—though I have sometimes wondered, in my own mind, how he came to be penniless in Calcutta; as I suppose he must have been, to have enlisted. Did you happen to hear anything about it?"

"Yes, indeed," Colonel Shepherd answered. "Curiously enough, he was by no means penniless; as he had just received 100 pounds reward, for the services he had rendered in preventing a ship from being captured, by the Malays. I happened to meet its captain on shore, the day I landed; and heard from him the story of the affair—which was as follows, as nearly as I can recollect."

Colonel Shepherd then related, to his friend, the story of the manner in which the brig—when chased by Malays—was saved, by being brought into the reef, by Will.

"Naturally," he went on, "I was greatly interested in the story and—expressing a wish to see the young fellow—he was brought off that evening, after mess, to the Euphrates; and told us how he had been wrecked on the island in a Dutch ship, from which only he, and a companion, were saved. I was so struck with his conduct—and, I may say, by his appearance and manner—that I took him aside into my own cabin, and learned from him the full particulars of his story. I don't think anyone else knows it for, when he expressed his willingness to take my advice, and enlist, I told him that he had better say nothing about his past. His manner was so good that I thought he would pass well, as some gentleman's son who had got into a scrape and, as I hoped that the time might come when he might step upwards, it was perhaps better that it should not be known what was his origin."

"But what was his origin, Shepherd? I confess you surprise me, for I have always had an idea that he was a man of good family; although in some strange way his education had been neglected for, in fact, he told me one day that he was absolutely ignorant of Latin."

"Well, Ripon, as you are a friend of the young fellow, and I know it will go no further, I will tell you the facts of the case. He was brought up in a workhouse, was apprenticed to a Yarmouth smack man and—the boat being run down in a gale by a Dutch troopship, to which he managed to cling, as the smack sank—he was carried in her to Java. On her voyage thence, to China, he was wrecked on the island I spoke of."

"You astound me," Colonel Ripon said, "absolutely astound me. I could have sworn that he was a gentleman by birth. Not, mind you, that I like or esteem him one iota the less, for what you tell me. Indeed, on the contrary; for there is all the more merit in his having made his way, alone. Still, you astonish me.

"They tell me," he said, with a smile, "that he is wonderfully like me but, strangely enough, he reminds me rather of my wife. You remember her, Shepherd? For you were stationed at Meerut, at the time I married her there."

Colonel Shepherd nodded and, for a few minutes, the two friends sat silent; thinking over the memories which the words had evoked.

"Strange, is it not," Colonel Ripon went on, arousing himself, "that the child of some pauper parents should have a resemblance, however distant, to me and my wife?"

"Curiously enough," Colonel Shepherd said, "the boy was not born of pauper parents. He was left at the door of the workhouse, at Ely, by a tramp; whose body was found, next morning, in one of the ditches. It was a stormy night; and she had, no doubt, lost her way after leaving the child. That was why they called him William Gale.

"Why, what is the matter, Ripon? Good heavens, are you ill?"

Colonel Shepherd's surprise was natural. The old officer sat rigid in his chair, with his eyes open and staring at his friend; and yet, apparently, without seeing him. The color in his face had faded away and, even through the deep bronze of the Indian sun, its pallor was visible.

Colonel Shepherd rose in great alarm, and was about to call for assistance when his friend, with a slight motion of his hand, motioned to him to abstain.

"How old is he?" came presently, in a strange tone, from his lips.

"How old is who?" Colonel Shepherd asked, in surprise. "Oh, you mean Gale! He is not nineteen yet, though he looks four or five years older. He was under seventeen, when he enlisted; and I rather strained a point to get him in, by hinting that, when he was asked his age, he had better say under nineteen. So he was entered as eighteen, but I know he was more than a year younger than that.

"But what has that to do with it, my dear old friend? What is the matter with you?"

"I believe, Shepherd," Colonel Ripon said solemnly, "that he is my son."

"Your son!" his comrade exclaimed, astonished.

"Yes, I believe he is my son."

"But how on earth can that be?" his friend asked. "Are you sure that you know what you are saying? Is your head quite clear, old friend?"

"My head is clear enough," the colonel replied, "although I felt stunned, at first. Did you never hear of my having lost my child?"

"No, indeed," Colonel Shepherd replied, more and more surprised—for he had at first supposed that some sudden access of fever, or delirium, had seized his friend. "You will remember that, a week or two after you were married, my regiment was moved up to the north; and we remained three years longer in India. When I got back to England, I heard that you had lost your wife, a short time before, and had returned. I remember our ships crossed on the way. When we met again, the conversation never turned on the past."

"I will tell you the story," the colonel said, "and you will see that, at any rate, the boy may be my son and, that being so, the double likeness proves to me, incontestably, that he is.

"I had, as you know, been ill before I left India. I had not been home for fifteen years, and got two years' leave. As you may know, I had a good fortune, irrespective of the service; and I took a place called Holmwood Park, near Dawlish and, as I had thought of retiring, at the end of my leave, I was put on the commission of the peace. My boy was born a few months after I got home.

"Soon after I took the place, some gipsy fellows broke into the poultry yard, and stole some valuable chickens—which were great pets of my wife. I chased them and, finally, brought home the guilt of the theft to one of the men, in whose tent a lot of their feathers were found. He had been previously convicted, and was sentenced to a term of penal servitude.

"Before the trial his wife—also a gipsy—called upon me, and begged me not to appear against her husband, This, of course, was out of the question, as he had already been sent to trial. When she found that her entreaties were useless she, in the most vindictive tone, told me that I should repent it; and she certainly spoke as if she meant it.

"I heard nothing more of the matter, until the boy was sixteen months old. Then he disappeared. He was stolen from the garden. A clue was left, evidently that I might know from whom the blow came. The gipsy had been convicted partly on the evidence of the feathers; but principally from the fact that the boot, which he had on, had half the iron on the heel broken off, and this tallied exactly with some marks in my fowl house. An hour after the child was gone we found, in the center of the drive, in the park, a boot, conspicuously placed there to catch the eye; and this boot I recognized, by the broken iron, as that which had transported the gipsy.

"That the woman had stolen the child, I had not the least doubt; but neither of her, nor it, could I ever gain the slightest clue. I advertised in every paper in the kingdom, I offered a reward of 1000 pounds, and I believe the police searched every gipsy encampment in England, but without success.

"My wife had never been strong and, from that day, she gradually sank. As long as there was hope she kept up, for a time. I hoped all would go well; but three months afterwards she faded rapidly and, ere six months had passed from the loss of the child, I buried her, and came straight out to India. I went home once, for two or three months, upon business connected with my property there, some seven years since. That was when we last met, you know, at the club. With that exception, I have remained here ever since."

"The trouble will be, I fear," Colonel Shepherd said, "for you to identify him. That vindictive gipsy woman, who stole your child, is not likely to have left any marks on its clothing by which it might be identified at any future time, and her revenge on you frustrated."

"Thank God!" the colonel said, earnestly, "if it be my son, he bears a mark by which I shall know him. That was one of his poor mother's greatest comforts. The child was born with an ugly blood mark on its neck. It used to bother my wife a good deal, and she consulted several surgeons whether it could not be removed; but they all said no, not without completely cutting out the flesh—and this, of course, was not to be thought of. After the child was lost I remember, as well as if it had been spoken today, my wife saying:

"'How strange are God's ways! I was foolish enough to fret over that mark on the darling's neck; and now, the thought of it is my greatest comfort and, if it shall be God's will that years shall pass away, before we find him, there is a sign by which we shall always know him. No other child can be palmed off upon us as our own. When we find Tom we shall know him, however changed he may be.'

"Listen, Shepherd! That is his step on the stairs. May God grant that he prove to be my son!"

"Be calm, old friend," Colonel Shepherd said. "I will speak to him."

The door opened, and Will entered.

"I am glad you have not gone, colonel—I was afraid you might have left, for I have been longer than I expected. I just heard the news that the 66th are in orders this evening to march, the day after tomorrow, for Kurrachee; to sail for England, where we are to be reorganized, again."

"Gale, I am going to ask you a rather curious thing. Will you do it, without asking why?" Colonel Shepherd said, quietly.

"Certainly, colonel, if it is in my power," Will said, somewhat surprised.

"Will you take off your patrol jacket, open your shirt, and turn it well down at the neck?"

For a moment, Will looked astounded at this request. He saw, by the tone in which it was made, that it was seriously uttered and, without hesitation, he began to unhook his patrol jacket. As he did so, his eye fell upon Colonel Ripon's face; and the intense anxiety, and emotion, that it expressed caused him to pause, for a moment.

Something extraordinary hung on what he had been asked to do. All sorts of strange thoughts flashed through his brain. Hundreds of times in his life he had said to himself that, if ever he discovered his parents, it would be by means of this mark upon his neck, which he was now asked to expose. The many remarks which had been made, of his likeness to Colonel Ripon, flashed across his mind; and it was with an emotion scarcely inferior to that of the old officer that he opened his shirt, and turned down the collar.

The sight was conclusive. Colonel Ripon held out his arms, with a cry of:

"My son, my son!"

Bewildered and delighted, Will felt himself pressed to the heart of the man whom he liked, and esteemed, beyond all others.

With a word of the heartiest congratulation, Colonel Shepherd left the father and son together; to exchange confidences, and tell to each other their respective stories, and to realize the great happiness which had befallen them both. Their delight was without a single cloud—save that which passed for a moment through Colonel Ripon's mind, as he thought how his wife would have rejoiced, had she lived to see that day.

His joy was, in some respects, even greater than that of his son. The latter had always pictured to himself that, if he ever discovered his father, he should find him all that was good; but the colonel had, for many years, not only given up all hope of ever finding his son, but almost every desire to do so. He had thought that, if still alive, he must be a gipsy vagabond—a poacher, a liar, a thief—like those among whom he would have been brought up. From such a discovery, no happiness could be looked for; only annoyance, humiliation, and trouble. To find his son, then, all that he could wish for—a gentleman, a most promising young officer, the man, indeed, to whom he had been so specially attracted—was a joy altogether unhoped and unlooked for.

Morning had broken before the newly united father and son had done their long and happy talk, and they separated only to take a bath, to prepare them for the day's work.

The astonishment of everyone was unbounded when Colonel Ripon announced, on the following morning, that in Captain Gale of the 66th—who, it was known, had risen from the ranks—he had discovered a son that had been stolen from him, as a child. No one entertained a doubt, for an instant, that any mistake had arisen; for the likeness between the two men, as they strode down the street together, on their way to General Roberts' quarters, was so marked that—now that men knew the relationship—none doubted for a moment that they were, indeed, father and son.

The warmest congratulations poured in upon them, from all sides; and from none more heartily than from the general, who was more than ever pleased that he had been the means of Will's obtaining his commission from the ranks.

The same day Colonel Ripon sent off, by a mounted messenger carrying despatches, a telegram to be sent from the nearest station of the flying line—which the engineers advancing with General Phayre's force had already carried as far as the Kojak Pass—to the government of India; asking leave to go home, at once, on the most urgent and pressing family business.

Yossouf's grief, when he heard that his master was going to leave for England, was very great. At first, he begged that he might accompany him; but Tom pointed out that—much as he should like to have him with him—his position in England would be an uncomfortable one. He would meet with no one with whom he could converse; and would, after a time, long for his own country again. Yossouf yielded to his reasoning; and the picture which Will drew of his own loneliness when in Cabul, separated from all his own people, aided greatly in enforcing his arguments on his mind. He said however that, at any rate, he would not return to Afghanistan, at present.

"It will be long," he said, "before things settle down there; and it will be useless for me to put my money into a herd which might be driven off by plunderers, the next week.

"Besides, at present the feeling against the English will be strong. So many have lost men of their family, in the fighting. If I returned, I should be a marked man. It is known that I threw in my lot with the English, and it will be cast in my teeth, even if no worse came of it.

"No, I will enlist in the Guides. I shall be at home with them, for most of them belong to the Afghan tribes. I am young yet, not fully a man, and I have my life before me. Some day, perhaps, if things are quiet and prosperous at home, I will go back and end my days there."

So it was arranged. One of the officers of the Guides had accompanied General Roberts, as interpreter; and Will handed over Yossouf to him, telling him how well the lad had served him. The officer promised to enroll him in the corps, as soon as he rejoined it; and also that he would not fail to report his conduct to the colonel, and to obtain his promotion to the rank of a native officer, as soon as possible. From Will Yossouf would accept nothing except his revolver, as a keepsake; but Colonel Ripon insisted upon his taking, from him, a present which would make him a rich man, when he chose to return to his native country.

CHAPTER 22: AT HOME AT LAST.

The next day Colonel Ripon started with the 66th and, at the end of the first day's march, met a messenger who, among other despatches, carried a telegram granting him, at once, the leave he asked for—and which, indeed, had been due, had he asked for it many years before. His intention was to accompany the 66th to Kurrachee, and to sail with it to England. This intention was carried out, and the remnant of the regiment safely reached England.

One of Colonel Ripon's first steps was to accompany Will—or, as he ought now to be called, Tom—to the Horse Guards; and to procure an insertion in the Gazette stating that Captain William Gale, of the 66th, would henceforth be known by his true and proper name of Thomas Ripon.

The colonel purchased a fine estate in Somersetshire and, retiring from the service, settled down there. There was a considerable discussion, between father and son, as to whether the latter should remain in the army. Colonel Ripon was unwilling that his son should relinquish a profession of which he was fond; and in which, from his early promotion, he had every chance of obtaining high rank and honor—but Tom, who saw how great a pleasure his society was to his father, and how lonely the latter's life would be without him, was resolute in his determination to quit the service. He had already, as he said, passed through a far greater share of adventure than usually falls to one man's lot; and the colonel's property was so large that there was not the slightest occasion for him to continue in the service.

Not long after his return to England, Will paid a visit to Ely workhouse. He was accompanied by the colonel, and the two men walked together up to the gate of the workhouse. He rang at the bell, and a woman opened the door. She curtsied, at seeing two tall, soldier-like gentlemen before her.

"Your name is Mrs. Dickson, I think?" the younger said.

The woman gave a violent start, and gazed earnestly at him.

"It is Will Gale!" she exclaimed, drawing back a step. "They said you were dead, years ago."

"No, I am very much alive, Mrs. Dickson; and glad, most glad, to see an old friend again."

"Good Lord!" the woman exclaimed, "it is the boy himself, sure enough;" and, for a moment, she seemed as if she would have rushed into his arms; and then she drew back, abashed at his appearance.

Tom, however, held out his arms; and the woman fell sobbing into them.

"Why, you did not think so badly of me," he said, "as to think that I should forget the woman who was a mother to me.

"Father," he said,

"—For I have found my real father, Mrs. Dickson, as you always said I should, some day—

"It is to this good woman that I owe what I am. But for her, I might now be a laboring man; but it is to her kindness, to her good advice, to her lessons, that I owe everything. It was she who taught me that I should so behave that, if my parents ever found me, they should have no cause to be ashamed of me. She was, indeed, as a mother to me; and this lodge was my home, rather than the work house, inside.

"Ah! And here is Sam!"

Sam Dickson, coming out at this moment, stood in open-mouthed astonishment, at seeing his wife standing with her hand in that of a gentleman.

"Oh, Sam! Who do you think this is?"

Sam made no reply, but stared at Tom, with all his eyes.

"If it warn't that he be drowned and dead, long ago," he said, at last, "I should say it was Will Gale, growed up and got to be a gentleman. I shouldn't ha' knowed him, at first; but when he smiles, I don't think as how I can be far wrong."

"You are right, Sam. I am the boy you and your wife were so kind to, from the time you picked him up, just where we are standing; and whom you last handed over to go aboard a smack, at Yarmouth. She was—as you have heard—run down in the North Sea; but I was saved, in the ship which ran over her, and was taken on it to the East. There—after being wrecked again, and going through lots of adventures—I went to India; enlisted there, and fought through the Afghan war.

"I am a captain, now; and my name is no longer Will Gale, but Tom Ripon, for I have found my real father—this gentleman, Colonel Ripon."

"Who feels," Colonel Ripon went on, "how much he and his son owe to your kindness, and that of your good wife, here; and who, as you will find, is not ungrateful. I have just bought an estate, down in Somersetshire; and I mean to install you and your wife in a pretty lodge, at the gates, with enough to live upon, comfortably, to the end of your lives."

Mrs. Dickson cried with joy, as Colonel Ripon entered into details of what he intended to do for them; and Sam—although, as was his way, much less demonstrative in his gladness—was yet greatly delighted. There was a good garden to the lodge. They were to have the keep of a cow, and thirty shillings per week, as long as they lived. Before the colonel left, Sam Dickson's resignation of his post was handed in to the master.

The colonel told them that at the end of the month, when Sam's notice would expire, they were to sell off what furniture they had, as it would cost more, to convey it so long a distance, than it was worth; and he would take care that they should find everything comfortable and ready for occupation, at the lodge, upon their arrival.

Tom called upon the master and matron and schoolmaster, and thanked all for the kindness that they had shown him, when a boy; and Colonel Ripon left a check with the master, to be expended in tobacco, tea, and sugar for the aged inmates of the house.

No words can express the delight of Sam Dickson and his wife when, a month later, they arrived at their new home. Tom had spared no trouble in seeing that it was comfortably and cosily furnished. The garden had been thoroughly dug up, and planted; and Mrs. Dickson could scarcely believe that she was the mistress of so pleasant a home. Tom was forgetful of none of his old friends; and he wrote to an address which Hans—his companion among the Malays—had given him when they separated, and forwarded to him a handsome watch, as a souvenir of his comrade.

There is no more to be told. Captain Ripon—still a very young man—is living with his father, the colonel. He is one of the most popular men in his county; and there is some talk of his standing for one of its boroughs, at the next election; and it is rumored that he is likely, ere long, to bring home a lady who will be the future mistress of Burnham Park.

He is quite content that he has left the army—though he fidgeted a little, while the Egyptian war was going on, and could not help feeling a little regret that he did not take part in the storming of Tel-el-Kebir.

Table of Contents

MAORI and SETTLER

PREFACE TO THE ORIGINAL EDITION

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VIII.

CHAPTER IX.

CHAPTER X.

CHAPTER XI.

CHAPTER XII.

CHAPTER XIII.

CHAPTER XIV.

CHAPTER XV.

CHAPTER XVI.

CHAPTER XVII.

CHAPTER XVIII.

MAORI and SETTLER

"DROP THAT OR I FIRE!"

Page 227

MAORI and SETTLER

A STORY OF

THE NEW ZEALAND WAR

BY

G. A. HENTY

Author of "Redskin and Cowboy" "In Freedom's Cause"

"Bonnie Prince Charlie" &c.

ILLUSTRATED

G.A. HENTY'S BOOKS

Illustrated by Eminent Artists

Uniform with this Edition

Beric the Briton: A Story of the Roman Invasion of Britain.

Bonnie Prince Charlie: A Tale of Fontenoy and Culloden.

Both Sides the Border: A Tale of Hotspur and Glendower.

By Conduct and Courage: A Story of the Days of Nelson.

By England's Aid: The Freeing of the Netherlands.

By Pike and Dyke: A Tale of the Rise of the Dutch Republic.

Facing Death: A Tale of the Coal-mines.

In the Heart of the Rockies: A Story of Adventure in Colorado.

Maori and Settler: A Story of the New Zealand War.

St. Bartholomew's Eve: A Tale of the Huguenot Wars.

St. George for England: A Tale of Cressy and Poitiers.

The Cat of Bubastes: A Story of Ancient Egypt.

The Dragon and the Raven: The Days of King Alfred.

The Treasure of the Incas: A Tale of Adventure in Peru.

Under Wellington's Command: A Tale of the Peninsular War.

With Lee in Virginia: A Story of the American Civil War.

With Wolfe in Canada; or, The Winning of a Continent.

Wulf the Saxon: A Story of the Norman Conquest.

LONDON: BLACKIE AND SON, LTD., 50 OLD BAILY, E.C.

BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED

LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY

Printed in Great Britain

PREFACE TO THE ORIGINAL EDITION

In the following story I have made no attempt to give anything like a general history of the long struggle between the brave tribes of New Zealand and the forces of England and the colony. That struggle lasted over a period of some years, and to do justice to its numerous incidents in the course of a single volume would have left no space whatever available for the telling of a story. It was divided into two distinct epochs. In the first the natives of the north of the islands fought for their independence and their right to have a king, and be governed by their own laws. Nothing could exceed the courage with which they struggled for these ends, and it needed a very strong force of British troops to storm their pahs or fortified camps, and overcome their resistance. The second epoch embraces the struggle brought about by the conversion of a portion of the tribes to the fanatical belief called the Pai Marire (literally "good and peaceful"), whose votaries were generally known as the Hau-Haus. During the earlier war the natives behaved with great moderation, and there were but few cases of the murder of outlying settlers. The slaying of all whites was, however, the leading feature of the Hau-Hau religion, and many cold-blooded massacres occurred during the struggle. The British troops had been for the most part withdrawn before the commencement of the Hau-Hau troubles, and the war was carried on by bodies of constabulary raised by the colonists, and with the aid of tribes that remained friendly to us. The massacre of Poverty Bay, which forms the leading feature of my story, and the events that followed it, are all strictly in accordance with facts.

G.A. HENTY

ILLUSTRATIONS

"DROP THAT OR I FIRE!"

A DOZEN SPEARS STRUCK THE WATER ROUND HER

WILFRID AND THE GRIMSTONES FIND IT HARD WORK

MR. ATHERTON KEEPS THE MOUTH OF THE DEFILE

"I AM AFRAID I AM HEAVY ON A HORSE STILL, WILFRID"

Map of Hawke Bay, Poverty Bay, and surrounding Country

MAORI AND SETTLER.

CHAPTER I.

A HOME BROKEN UP.

W ELL, mother, one thing is certain—something has got to be done. It is no use crying over spilt milk, that I can see. It is a horribly bad business, but grieving over it won't make it any better. What one has got to do is to decide on some plan or other, and then set to work to carry it out."

The speaker, Wilfrid Renshaw, was a boy between fifteen and sixteen years old. He was standing with his back to an empty fireplace, his feet well apart, his hands deep in his pockets. He was rather short for his age, but very squarely built. His hair was dark, cut rather short, and so ruffled over his head that there were no signs of a parting; his eyebrows were heavy, his eyes bright but rather deeply set; his chin was square and his jaw heavy; his nose was a little upturned, and this together with his eyes gave a merry expression to a face that would otherwise have been heavy and stern.

At school Wilfrid Renshaw had been regarded as rather a queer fellow. He was full of quiet fun, and saw a humorous side in everything. He did not take a very leading part in the various school sports, though there was a general idea that if Renshaw only chose to exert himself he could excel in any of them. In point of actual strength, although there were several boys in the school older than himself, it was generally admitted that he was by far the strongest there. But he always went his own way and always knew his own mind, and when he had once given his decision every one knew that it was of no use attempting to alter it; indeed, his reputation for obstinacy was so great that when he had once said "I won't" or "I will," no one ever attempted to argue with him.

He was given to long walks and to collecting insects or flowers. He could never be persuaded to make one of the cricket eleven; but in winter, when there was little scope for his favourite pursuit, he threw himself into football; and although he absolutely refused to accept the captaincy when unanimously elected to that honour, he was considered by far the most valuable member of the team. He was scarcely popular among the boys of his own age; for although his fun and general good temper were appreciated by them, his determination to go his own way, and his entire disregard for the opinion of others, caused him to be considered an unsociable sort of fellow, an impression increased by the fact that he had no particular chums.

Among the smaller boys he was greatly liked. He would never allow any bullying when he was present; and although his interference was often resented by some of the elders, his reputation for strength and obstinacy was so great that he had never been called upon to take active measures to support his decisively expressed opinions. His father lived in a pretty house a quarter of a mile outside Reading; and as Wilfrid attended the grammar-school there, he was much more free to indulge his own tastes and go his own way than if he had been in a boarding-school. His chief companion in his rambles was his only sister Marion, who was a year his senior, although strangers would not have taken her to be so, either from her appearance or manner. She had an active lithe figure, and was able to keep up with him even during his longest excursions. They were in fact great chums and allies, and Marion would have indignantly scouted the idea had anyone suggested to her that her brother was either obstinate or unsociable.

Mr. Renshaw had been intended for the bar, and had indeed been called to that profession; but shortly afterwards he came into a fortune at the death of his father, and at once abandoned all idea of practising. After travelling for a few years on the Continent and in the East, he married and settled down near Reading. His time was for the most part devoted to archæology. He had a rare collection of ancient British, Saxon, and Norman arms, ornaments, and remains of all sorts; had written several books on the antiquities of Berkshire and Oxfordshire; was an authority upon tumuli and stone weapons; and was regarded by his acquaintances as a man of much learning.

The management of the house and children, and indeed of all affairs unconnected with his favourite hobby, he left to his wife, who was, fortunately for him, a clear-headed and sensible woman. Mr. Renshaw was, in fact, an eminently impractical man, weak and easy in disposition, averse to exertion of any kind, and without a shadow of the decision of character that distinguished his son. Except when away upon antiquarian excursions he passed his time entirely in his own study, engaged upon a work which, he anticipated, would gain for him a very high position among the antiquarians of the country, the subject being the exact spot at which Julius Cæsar landed in Britain.

He made his appearance only at meal-times, and then paid but little attention to what was going on around him, although he was kind to his children in a gentle indifferent sort of way. For many years he had been engaged in making up his mind as to the school to which Wilfrid should be sent; and the boy had at first only been sent to the grammar-school at the suggestion of his mother as a temporary measure until the important decision should be arrived at. This had been six years before, and Mr. Renshaw had postponed his decision until it was too late for Wilfrid to enter at any of the great public schools.

Knowing from long experience what would be the result were he consulted as to Marion's education, Mrs. Renshaw had, when the girl was nine years old, engaged a governess for her without any previous consultation with her husband, simply telling him of the arrangement after it was concluded, saying: "I know, Alfred, that you have not yet decided whether an education at home or at school is best for a girl, and I have consequently arranged with a young lady to come as governess until you can come to a conclusion upon the point."

Wilfrid Renshaw was extremely fond of his mother. His father he regarded with a somewhat contemptuous kind of affection. He did not doubt that he was a very learned man, but he had small patience with his inability to make up his mind, his total want of energy, and his habit of leaving everything for his wife to decide upon and carry out.

"It would do father an immense deal of good if something were to happen that would wake him up a bit and get him to take an interest in things," he had said over and over again to Marion. "I cannot understand a man having no opinion of his own about anything."

"I do not think you ought to speak in that sort of way, Wil, about father."

"Oh, that is all nonsense, Marion. One cannot be blind about a person even if he is one's own father. Of course he is very kind and very indulgent, but it would be very much pleasanter if he were so because he wished to give us pleasure, instead of because it is the easiest thing to do. I should be downright pleased if sometimes when I ask him for anything he would say positively I could not have it."

Now the something that Wilfrid had hoped might occur to rouse his father had taken place, and had come in a form very unpleasantly violent and unexpected. The papers a week before had brought the news of the failure of the bank in which the greater portion of Mr. Renshaw's property was invested, and a letter had the following morning been received from a brother of Mrs. Renshaw, who was also a shareholder in the bank, saying that the liabilities were very large, and that the shareholders would undoubtedly be called upon to pay even their last penny to make up the deficiency. This news had been confirmed, and there could be no doubt absolute ruin had fallen upon them.

Mr. Renshaw had been completely overwhelmed by the tidings, and had taken to his bed. Wilfrid's holidays had begun a few days before, and his mother at once acquainted him with the misfortune that had befallen them, and she now told him that the calls that would be made upon the shares would more than swallow up the rest of their fortune.

"There will be absolutely nothing remaining, Wilfrid, except a thousand pounds that I had at my marriage, and which were fortunately settled upon me. This cannot be touched. Everything else will have to go."

"Well, it's a bad business, mother. I will go for a walk and think it over. Marion, put on your hat and come out with me."

They had been for their walk—a long one, and he was now expressing the result at which they had arrived.

"One thing is certain—something has got to be done."

"Yes," Mrs. Renshaw replied with a faint smile. "The question is, What is it?"

"Well, mother, it is quite certain that we four cannot live on the interest of a thousand pounds unless we go into a hovel and live on bread and water."

"I quite see that, Wilfrid; but I am sure I do not see how we are to earn money. It is far too late for your father to go back to the bar now, and it might be years before he got a brief. At any rate, we could not afford to live in London till he does so. I have been thinking I might open a little school somewhere."

The boy waved his hand.

"No, mother, you are not going to take us all on to your shoulders. You have got to look after father; that will be a full share of the work, I am sure. Marion and I have been talking it over, and the only possible thing we can see is for us to emigrate."

"To emigrate!" Mrs. Renshaw repeated in astonishment. "Why, my dear boy, what should we be fit for in the colonies more than here?"

"A good deal, mother. A thousand pounds is nothing here, and it would be a good deal out there. It would be horrible to come down to live in a little cottage like working people here, after living like this; but it would be nothing out there. We could buy land for next to nothing in New Zealand, and could employ a couple of men to work with me to clear it and cultivate it; and get a few cows and sheep to start with, and still have a little money in hand. You and Marion could look after things indoors; I should look after things out of doors."

"You don't seem to count your father at all," Mrs. Renshaw said a little reproachfully.

"No, mother, I don't," Wilfrid said bluntly. "You know as well as I do that father would be of no use to speak of in a life like that. Still, I think he could make himself happy out there as well as here. He could take all his books with him, and could inquire into the manners and customs of the natives, who are every bit as good as the ancient Britons; better, I should say. But whatever we do, mother, whether it is here or anywhere else, we must settle upon it and do it. Of course we must consult him; but we must quite make up our minds before we do so. If you wait a few weeks for father to make up his mind what we had better do, we shall wait till this thousand pounds is spent and there is nothing to do but to go into the workhouse.

"I am sure that my plan is the best for us. I am as strong as a great many men; and anyhow, out there, there ought to be no fear about our keeping ourselves. I have no doubt that when we get out there father will be able to help in many ways, though I do not know at present what they are. Anyhow, we shall have a house to live in, even if it is only a log hut, and I have no doubt have plenty to eat and drink; and that is more than we shall do if we stay here. I could not earn anything to speak of here: the most I could expect to get would be ten shillings a week as an office-boy. And as to your idea of a school, you might be years before you got pupils; and, besides, when there are two men in a family it would be shameful to depend upon a woman to keep them."

"Why do you think of New Zealand more than Canada, Wil?"

"Because, in the first place, the climate is a great deal pleasanter, and, in the second place, I believe that as the passage-money is higher the emigrants are of a better class, and we are likely to have more pleasant neighbours—people that you and father can associate with—than we should have if we went to a backwood clearing in Canada. Tom Fairfax has an uncle in New Zealand, and I have heard him say there are lots of officers in the army and people of that sort who have settled there. Of course I know it is going to be hard work, and that it will be very rough for you and father when we land at first, but I expect it will be better after a time; and anyhow, mother, I do not think we can starve there, and I feel sure that it will come to that if we stop here. At any rate, you had better think it over.

"Of course if you hit on anything better I shall be ready to agree at once; but whatever it is we must quite make up our minds together and then tell father. But when we do tell him we shall have to say that we are quite convinced that the plan we have fixed on is the only one that offers a hope of success. Of course I do not expect that he will see it as we do, but if we put it that if he can suggest anything better to be done we will set about it at once, I think he's pretty certain to let things go on as we arrange. I do not mean to speak disrespectfully of father," he went on seeing that his mother's face was a little clouded "but you know, mother, that people who are learned, scientific, and all that sort of thing are very often bad hands at everyday matters. Sir Isaac Newton, and lots of other fellows I have read about, were like that; and though father is a splendid hand at anything to do with the Britons or Danes, and can tell you the story of every old ruin in the kingdom, he is no good about practical matters. So that we take all the trouble off his hands, I think he will be quite ready to agree to do whatever you think is the best. At any rate, mother, I think my plan is well worth thinking over, and the sooner we make up our minds the better; after all it is a great thing having something to look forward to and plan about."

Three or four days later Mrs. Renshaw told Wilfrid that think as she would she could see no better plan for utilizing her little capital than for them to emigrate.

"It is putting great responsibility on your shoulders, my boy," she said; "for I do not disguise from myself that it is upon you that we must principally depend. Still you will be sixteen by the time we can arrive there, and I think we should be able to manage. Besides, as you say, we can hire a man or two to help, and shall have some money to fall back upon until things begin to pay. There are plenty of women who manage even without the assistance of a son, and I do not know why I should not be able to get on with you and Marion to help me, especially as farming is a comparatively simple business, in a new country. At any rate, as you say, with two or three cows and plenty of ducks and hens, and what we can grow on the ground, there will be no fear of our starving."

The next day Mr. Renshaw came downstairs for the first time since he had heard of the misfortune. He had received a letter that morning saying that a call was at once to be made on each shareholder for the amount still standing on each share, and this sum was in itself more than he could meet even after the sale of his house and its contents. He was in a state of profound depression. He had, while upstairs, been endeavouring to think of some means of supporting his family, but had been wholly unable to think of any plan whatever. He knew that at his age he should find it next to impossible to obtain employment, even as a clerk at the lowest salary; his knowledge of archæology would be absolutely useless to him, for the books he had already published had not even paid the expenses of printing.

Few words were spoken at breakfast, but when the meal was finished Mrs. Renshaw began: "My dear Alfred, Wilfrid and I have been talking over what we had better do under the circumstances. I have told him that the failure of the bank involves the loss of all our property, that the house will have to be sold, and that, in fact, there remains nothing but the thousand pounds of my settlement. We have talked it over in every light, and have quite arrived at the conclusion as to what we think the best thing to be done if you see matters in the same light and will consent to our plan. I had at first thought of starting a little school."

"I would never agree to that," Mr. Renshaw said; "never. I must do something, my dear, though I have not made up my mind in what direction. But whatever it is, it is for me to work, and not for you."

"Well, we have already given up the idea," Mrs. Renshaw went on. "Wilfrid was sure that you would not like it, and, as he pointed out, the money might be spent before I could obtain sufficient pupils to pay. Besides, he is anxious to be of use; but the difficulty struck us of obtaining any kind of remunerative work here."

"That is what I have been thinking," Mr. Renshaw said. "I shall be willing to work at anything in my power, but I don't see what possible work I can get."

"Quite so, my dear. In this country it is of course terribly difficult for anyone to get employment unless he has been trained in some particular line, therefore Wil and I are agreed that the very best plan, indeed the only plan we can think of, is for us to go out to a new country. My little money will take us to New Zealand, buy a good-sized piece of land there, and suffice to enable us to clear it and stock it to some extent. The life will no doubt be rough for us all for a time; but none of us will care for that, and at any rate we are sure to be able to keep the wolf from the door."

"To New Zealand!" Mr. Renshaw repeated aghast. "That is a terrible undertaking. Besides, I know nothing whatever about farming, and I fear that I am quite unfit for hard work."

"I do not think it will be at all necessary for you to work yourself, Alfred. Of course we can hire men there just as we can in England. I believe the natives are willing to work at very low rates of pay, so we need have no difficulty on that score. Wilfrid is growing up now, and will soon be able to relieve you of all responsibility, and then you will be able to devote yourself to your favourite studies; and I should think that a book from your hand upon native manners and customs would be sure to be a great success. Accustomed as you are to tracing things up from small remains, and with your knowledge of primitive peoples, your work would be very different from those written by men without any previous acquaintance with such matters."

"The idea certainly pleases me," Mr. Renshaw said; "but, of course, I shall want time to think over your startling proposal, Helen."

"Of course, my dear. In the meantime we will go on packing up and preparing to move at once from here, as you say that there must be a sale of everything; then you can think the matter over, and if you decide upon any better scheme than ours we can carry that out. If not, we shall be ready to put ours into execution."

The next month was a busy one. There was great sympathy evinced by all the Renshaw's neighbours and acquaintances when it was heard that their whole fortune was swept away by the failure of the bank. There were farewell visits to be paid, not only to these, but to their poorer neighbours. In answer to inquiries as to their plans, Mr. Renshaw always replied that at present nothing whatever was settled. Mrs. Renshaw hinted that, although their plans were not definitely fixed, she thought it probable that they would go abroad; while Wilfrid and Marion both informed their friends confidently that they were going to New Zealand.

The work of packing went on. A few articles of furniture that were special favourites with them all were packed up and sent to be warehoused in London, in order that they might some day be forwarded to them when they had made themselves a home; but nothing else was taken beyond their clothes, a good selection of books for their general reading, a large box of those which Mr. Renshaw declared absolutely indispensable to himself, and a few nick-nacks specially prized. Everything else was handed over for sale for the benefit of the creditors of the bank. During these weeks Mr. Renshaw continued to speak as if he regarded the New Zealand project as wholly impracticable, and on each occasion when he did so his wife replied cheerfully: "Well, my dear, we are in no way wedded to it, and are quite ready to give it up and adopt any plan you may decide upon. The matter is entirely in your hands."

But Mr. Renshaw could hit upon no other scheme; and, indeed, his wife's suggestion as to a book on the natives of New Zealand had much taken his fancy. Certainly he, a trained antiquarian, should be able to produce a book upon such a subject that would be of vastly greater value than those written by settlers and others having no training whatever that would qualify them for such work. It was probable that he should be able to throw some entirely new light upon the origin and history of the Maoris or natives of New Zealand, and that his book would greatly add to his reputation, and would sell well. Really the idea was not such a very bad one, and, for himself, he should certainly prefer a life in a new country to shabby lodgings in some out-of-the-way place, after having for so many years been a personage of importance in his own neighbourhood.

"I see one great objection to your scheme, Helen, and that is that there is a war going on with the Maoris."

"I know there is," Mrs. Renshaw, who had talked the matter over with Wilfrid, replied; "but it is confined to two or three of the tribes, and the settlers in other parts have been in no way disturbed. The troops have taken most of their strongholds, and the troubles are considered to be approaching an end; therefore I do not think there is any occasion to be uneasy on that score. Besides, in some respects the trouble will be advantageous, as we should probably be able to buy land cheaper than we otherwise should have done, and the land will rapidly rise in value again when the disturbances are over. But, of course, we should not go to the disturbed districts. These are round Auckland and New Plymouth, and the troubles are confined to the tribes there. Everything is perfectly peaceable along the other parts of the coast."

It was not until two or three days before the move was to be made from the house that Mrs. Renshaw recurred to the subject.

"You have not said yet, Alfred, what plans you have decided upon. As we shall leave here in three days it is quite time that we made up our minds about it, as, of course, our movements must depend on your decision. If you have fixed upon any place for us to settle down in, it would be cheaper for us to move there at once instead of wasting money by going up to London first. Another reason I have for asking is, that Robert and William Grimstone, the gardener's sons, who have got an idea from something Wilfrid said to them that we might be going abroad, have asked him to ask you if you would take them with you. They have been working in the garden under their father for the last two or three years, and are strong active young fellows of nineteen and twenty. As their father has worked here ever since we came, and we have known the young fellows since they were children, such an arrangement would have been a very pleasant one had you liked my plan of emigrating, as it would have been much more agreeable having two young fellows we knew with us instead of strangers. Of course I told Wilfrid to tell them that nothing whatever was settled, and that our plans were not in any way formed, and that they had better, therefore, look out for situations about here, and that I was sure you would give them good letters of recommendation."

Mr. Renshaw was silent. "I really do not see that there is any occasion to come to a decision in a hurry," he said irritably.

"Not in a hurry, Alfred," his wife said quietly. "You see, we have had a month to think it over, and I do not see that we shall be more likely to settle upon an advantageous scheme at the end of six months than we are now. From the day we leave here and hand over everything to the receiver of the bank we shall be drawing on our little capital, and every pound is of importance. I think, therefore, Alfred, that you and I should make up our minds before we leave here as to what course we are going to adopt. As I have said, I myself see no scheme by which we are likely to be able to maintain ourselves in England, even in a very humble way. A life in the colonies would, to me, be very much more pleasant than the struggle to make ends meet here.

"It would afford an opening for Wilfrid, and be vastly more advantageous for him than anything we should hope to get for him here; and I think it will be far better for Marion too. Of course, if we decided to emigrate, we could, should you prefer it, go to Canada, Australia, or the United States in preference to New Zealand. I only incline to New Zealand because I have heard that there is a larger proportion of officers and gentlemen there than in other colonies, and because I believe that the climate is a particularly pleasant one. But, of course, this is merely a suggestion at present, and it is for you to decide."

"If we are to emigrate at all," Mr. Renshaw replied, "I should certainly prefer New Zealand myself. The Maoris are a most interesting people. Their origin is a matter of doubt, their customs and religion are peculiar, and I have no doubt that I should, after studying them, be able to throw much new and valuable light upon the subject. Personally, I am sure that I am in no way fitted for the life of a settler. I know nothing of farming, and could neither drive a plough nor wield an axe; but if I could make the native subject my own, I might probably be able to do my share towards our expenses by my books, while Wilfrid could look after the men. The offer of these two young fellows to go with us has removed several of my objections to the plan, and I agree with you that it would be more advantageous for Wilfrid and Marion than to be living in wretched lodgings. Therefore, my dear, I have decided to fall in with your plan, and only hope that it will turn out as well as you seem to expect. It will be a great change and a great trial; but since you seem to have set your heart upon it, I am willing to adopt your plans instead of my own, and we will therefore consider it settled that we will go to New Zealand."

Mrs. Renshaw was too wise a woman to point out that her husband had not, so far as she was aware, any plans whatever of his own, and she contented herself by saying quietly: "I am glad you have decided so, my dear. I do think it is the best thing for us all, and I am quite sure it is the best for Wilfrid and Marion. If it had not been for them I should have said let us take a tiny cottage near some town where I might add to our income by giving lessons in music or other things, and you might have the companionship of people of your own tastes; but, being as it is, I think it far better to give them a start in a new country, although I know that such a life as we shall lead there must entail, at any rate at first, some hardships, and the loss of much to which we have been accustomed."

Wilfrid and Marion were delighted when they heard from their mother that the matter was settled. Both had had great hopes that Wilfrid's scheme would be finally accepted, as there did not seem any other plan that was possible. Still Wilfrid knew the difficulty that his father would have in making up his mind, and feared there might be a long delay before he could bring himself to accept the plan proposed to him. Mrs. Renshaw, who was a good business woman, lost no time in arranging with Robert and William Grimstone as to their accompanying them. Their passage-money was to be paid, and they were to bind themselves to remain for three years in Mr. Renshaw's service on wages similar to those they would have obtained at home; after that, they were to be paid whatever might be the colonial rate of wages.

The excitement that the prospect of emigration caused to the young people lessened their pain at leaving the house where they had been born and brought up, with all its pleasant associations and material comforts. It was, however, very trying to them when they bade good-bye for the last time to their surroundings and shook hands with their old servants.

"If ever we get rich in New Zealand, father," Wilfrid said, "we will come back and buy the house again."

Mr. Renshaw shook his head. Just at present he was disposed to regard himself as a martyr, and considered that he had made an unprecedented sacrifice of his own wishes and comforts for the sake of his children, and that no good could be expected to arise from the plan to which he had consented. A good many friends had gathered at the station to say good-bye, and it was some time after the train had started on its way to London before any of the party felt themselves inclined to speak.

On arriving in town they went at once to lodgings they had engaged in Eastbourne Terrace, facing the station. Once settled there, no time was lost in making preparations for their voyage. The files of the advertisements had already been searched and the names of the vessels sailing for New Zealand and the addresses of their owners noted, and after paying a visit to several shipping offices the choice of vessels remained at last between the Flying Scud and the Mayflower. They were vessels of about the same size, both bore a good reputation as sailers, and they heard excellent accounts of the captains who commanded them.

The Mayflower was to sail direct to Wellington round the Cape. The Flying Scud was taking in cargo for Rio and Buenos-Ayres, and would proceed thence via Cape Horn. Her rates of passage were somewhat lower than those of the Mayflower, as the route via the Cape of Good Hope was that more generally used, and the number of passengers who had secured berths by her were very much smaller than those who intended to travel by the Mayflower. It was this that principally decided them in choosing the western route; Mr. Renshaw was in a depressed and nervous state, and his wife considered that he would be far more comfortable with a comparatively small number of fellow-passengers than in a crowded ship.

Marion quite agreed with her mother; and Wilfrid was also in favour of the Flying Scud, as he thought it would be pleasant to break the passage by putting into the great South American ports and getting a glimpse of their inhabitants. Mr. Renshaw himself was quite satisfied to accept his wife's decision, whatever it might be. The Flying Scud was therefore selected, and passages for the party secured in her.

CHAPTER II.

THE EMBARKATION.

The Flying Scud was to sail in ten days; and this was ample time for their preparations, for Mrs. Renshaw wisely decided that it was better to buy all that was requisite for starting their new life, in New Zealand.

"We have none of us the least idea what will be required," she said. "It will be far better to pay somewhat higher prices for what we really do want out there than to cumber ourselves with all sorts of things that may be useless to us. We have already a considerable amount of baggage. There are our clothes, linen, and books, your father's two double-barrelled guns, which, by the way, I do not think he has ever used since we have been married. The only thing we had better get, as far as I see, will be four rifles, which no doubt we can buy cheap second-hand, and four revolvers.

"I do not for a moment suppose we shall ever want to use them, but as we may be often left in the house alone I think it would be pleasant to know that we are not altogether defenceless. We had better lay in a good stock of ammunition for all these weapons. Besides the clothes we have we had better get serge dresses and suits for the voyage, and a few strong servicable gowns and suits for rough work out there. Beyond this I do not think that we need spend a penny. We can certainly get everything we shall want for our new life at Wellington, which is a large place."

On the morning of the day on which they were to embark the Grimstones came up from Reading. All the heavy luggage had been sent on board ship on the previous day, and at twelve o'clock two cabs drove up to the side of the Flying Scud in St. Catherine's Docks. The one contained Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw, Marion, and a vast quantity of small packets inside. Wilfrid was on the box with the driver, and the roof was piled high with luggage. The other cab contained the two Grimstones and the rest of the luggage. The Renshaws were already acquainted with the ship in which they were to sail, having paid her a visit four days previously to see their cabins. The parents had a comfortable cabin to themselves. Marion was berthed in a cabin with two other ladies, who, she learned, were sisters, the elder about her own age, and Wilfrid found he would have but one fellow-passenger. The Grimstones were in the steerage forward.

The vessel was in a state of bustle, and what to the travellers seemed confusion. Numbers of other passengers were arriving, and the deck was littered with, their luggage until it could be sorted and sent down to their cabins; late cargo was being swung on board and lowered into the hold. On the deck aft were gathered the cabin passengers, with relatives and friends who had come to see them off. An hour later the bell rang as a signal for all visitors to go ashore. There were sad partings both fore and aft as the bell clanged out its impatient signal.

"I am very glad, mother, that we have no friends to say good-bye to us here, and that we got that all over at Reading."

"So am I, Wil. I think it much better myself that these partings should be got through before people leave home. It is natural of course that relatives and friends should like to see the last of each other, but I think it is a cruel kindness, and am glad, as you say, that we had no dear friends in London. Those at home have already shown their thoughtfulness and friendship." For indeed during the last few days hampers of presents of all kinds had arrived in a steady flow at Eastbourne Terrace. There had been great feeling of commiseration among all their acquaintances at the misfortune that had befallen the Renshaws; and the manner in which they had at once surrendered everything for the benefit of the shareholders of the bank, and the calmness with which they had borne their reverses, had excited admiration, and scarce a friend or acquaintance but sent substantial tokens of their good-will or sympathy.

As soon as it was publicly known that the Renshaws were about to sail for New Zealand, the boys and masters of the grammar-school between them subscribed and sent a handsome double-barrelled gun, a fishing-rod, and all appurtenances, to Wilfrid. Mr. Renshaw received two guns, several fishing-rods, two crates of crockery, and several cases of portable furniture of various kinds, besides many small articles. Mrs. Renshaw was presented with a stove of the best construction and a crate full of utensils of every kind, while Marion had work-boxes and desks sufficient to stock a school, two sets of garden tools, and innumerable nick-nacks likely to be more or less useful to her in her new life. Besides these there were several boxes of books of standard literature.

"Every one is very kind," Mrs. Renshaw said as the crates and hampers arrived; "but if it goes on like this we shall have to charter a ship to ourselves, and how we are to move about there when we get out with all these things I have not the least idea."

At last the good-byes were all finished, the visitors had left the ship, the hawsers were thrown off, and the vessel began to move slowly towards the dock gates. As soon as she had issued through these she was seized by a tug, and proceeded in tow down the crowded river. There was a last waving of handkerchiefs and hats to the group of people standing at the entrance to the docks, and then the passengers began to look round and examine each other and the ship. Sailors were hard at work—the last bales and boxes were being lowered into the hold, ropes were being coiled up, and tidiness restored to the deck. Parties of seamen were aloft loosening some of the sails, for the wind was favourable, and the captain had ordered some of the canvas to be set to assist the tug.

"Now, Marion," Mrs. Renshaw said, "we had better go below and tidy up things a bit. Wil, you may as well come down and help me get the trunks stowed away under the berths, and put some hooks in for the brush-bags and other things we have brought; the hooks and gimlet are in my hand-bag."

Wilfrid assisted to set his mother's cabin in order, and then went to his own. It was a good-sized cabin, and when the ship was full accommodated four passengers; but the two upper bunks had now been taken down, and there was, Wilfrid thought, ample room for two. On his own bunk were piled his two portmanteaus, a gun-case, a bundle of fishing-rods, and other odds and ends, and a somewhat similar collection of luggage was on that opposite. Wilfred read the name on the labels. "Atherton," he said; "I wonder what he is like. I do hope he will be a nice fellow."

Scarcely had the thought passed through his mind when a figure appeared at the cabin door. It was that of a tall stout man, with immensely broad shoulders. His age Wilfrid guessed to be about thirty-five. He had a pleasant face, and there was a humorous twinkle in his eye as the lad looked round in astonishment at the figure completely blocking up the doorway.

"So you are Renshaw?" the big man said. "I congratulate myself and you that your dimensions are not of the largest. My name is Atherton, as I daresay you have seen on my luggage. Suppose we shake hands, Renshaw? It is just as well to make friends at once, as we have got to put up with each other for the next five or six months. Of course you are a little appalled at my size," he went on, as he shook hands with the lad. "Most people are at first, but nobody is so much appalled as I am myself. Still it has its amusing side, you know. I don't often get into an omnibus, because I do not think it is fair; but if I am driven to do so, and there happen to be five people on each side, the expression of alarm on those ten faces when I appear at the door is a picture, because it is manifestly impossible that they can make room for me on either side."

"What do you do, sir?" Wilfrid asked laughing.

"I ask one of them to change sides. That leaves two places vacant, and as I make a point of paying for two, we get on comfortably enough. It is fortunate there are only two of us in this cabin. If I have the bad luck to travel in a full ship I always wait until the others are in bed before I turn in, and get up in the morning before they are astir; but I think you and I can manage pretty comfortably."

"Then you have travelled a good deal, sir?" Wilfrid said.

"I am always travelling," the other replied. "I am like the fidgetty Phil of the story-book, who could never keep still. Most men of my size are content to take life quietly, but that is not so with me. For the last twelve or thirteen years I have been always on the move, and I ought to be worn down to a thread paper; but unfortunately, as you see, that is not the effect of travel in my case. I suppose you are going out to settle?"

"Yes, sir. I have my father, mother, and sister on board."

"Lucky fellow!" Mr. Atherton said; "I have no relations worth speaking of."

"Are you going to settle at last, sir?" Wilfrid asked.

"No, I am going out to botanize. I have a mania for botany, and New Zealand, you know, is in that respect one of the most remarkable regions in the world, and it has not yet been explored with anything approaching accuracy. It is a grand field for discovery, and there are special points of interest connected with it, as it forms a sort of connecting link between the floras of Australia, Asia, and South America, and has a flora of its own entirely distinct from any of these. Now let me advise you as to the stowing away of your traps. There is a good deal of knack in these things. Have you got your portmanteaus packed so that one contains all the things you are likely to require for say the first month of your voyage, and the other as a reserve to be drawn on occasionally? because, if not, I should advise you to take all the things out and to arrange them in that way. It will take you a little time, perhaps, but will save an immense amount of trouble throughout the voyage."

Wilfrid had packed his trunks with things as they came to hand, but he saw the advantage of following his fellow-passenger's advice, and accordingly opened his portmanteaus and piled the whole of their contents upon his berth. He then repacked them, Mr. Atherton sitting down on his berth and giving his advice as to the trunk in which each article should be placed.

The work of rearrangement occupied half-an-hour, and Wilfrid often congratulated himself during the voyage upon the time so spent. When all was complete and the cabin arranged tidily, Wilfrid looked in at the next cabin. This was occupied by two young men of the name of Allen. They were friends of an acquaintance of Mr. Renshaw, who, hearing that they were journeying by the same ship to New Zealand, had brought them down to Eastbourne Terrace and introduced them to Mr. Renshaw and his family. The two were occupied in arranging their things in the cabin.

"Well, Renshaw," James, the elder of them, said when he entered, "I am afraid I cannot congratulate you on your fellow-passenger. We saw him go into your cabin. He is a tremendous man. He would be magnificent if he were not so stout. Why, you will scarce find room to move!"

"He is a capital fellow," Wilfrid said. "I think we shall get on splendidly together. He is full of fun, and makes all sorts of jokes about his own size. He has travelled a tremendous lot, and is up to everything. He is nothing like so old as you would think, if you have not seen his face. I do not think he is above thirty-five or so. Well, as I see you have just finished, I will go up and see how we are getting on."

When Wilfrid reached the deck he found the vessel was off Erith, and was greeted by his sister.

"You silly boy, you have been missing the sight of all the shipping, and of Greenwich Hospital. The idea of stopping below all this time. I should have come to call you up if I had known which was your room."

"Cabin, you goose!" Wilfrid said; "the idea of talking of rooms on board a ship. I would have come up if I had thought of it; but I was so busy putting things to right and making the acquaintance of the gentleman in the cabin with me that I forgot altogether we were moving down the river."

"Which is he, Wilfrid?"

Wilfrid laughed and nodded in the direction of Mr. Atherton, who was standing with his back towards them a short distance away.

Marion's eyes opened wide.

"Oh, Wil, what a big man! He must quite fill up the cabin."

"He seems an awfully good fellow, Marion."

"I daresay he may be, Wil; but he will certainly take up more than his share of the cabin."

"It is awkward, isn't it, young lady?" Mr. Atherton said, suddenly turning round on his heel, to Marion's horror, while Wilfrid flushed scarlet, for he had not the least idea that his words could be heard. "I have capital hearing, you see," Mr. Atherton went on with a laugh, "and a very useful sense it is sometimes, and has stood me in good service upon many occasions, though I own that it effectually prevents my cherishing any illusion as to my personal appearance. This is your sister, of course, Renshaw; in fact, anyone could see that at a glance. There is nothing like making acquaintances early on the voyage; the first day is in that respect the most important of all."

"Why is that?" Marion asked.

"Because as a rule the order in which people sit down to table on the first day of the voyage is that in which they sit the whole time. Now, if one happens to sit one's self down by people who turn out disagreeable it is a very great nuisance, and therefore it is very important to find out a little about one's fellow-passengers the first day, so as to take a seat next to someone whom you are not likely to quarrel with before you have been a week at sea."

"Then they do not arrange places for you, Mr. Atherton?"

"Oh no; the captain perhaps settles as to who are to sit up by him. If there is anyone of special importance, a governor or vice-governor or any other big-wig, he and his wife, if he has got one, will probably sit next to the captain on one side, if not, he will choose someone who has been specially introduced to him or who has sailed with him before, and the steward, before the party sit down, puts their names on their plates; everyone else shifts for themselves. Renshaw, I shall be glad if you will introduce me to your father and mother, and if we get on well I will go down below and arrange that we get places together. I have been chatting with the first officer, who is a very pleasant fellow; I have sailed with him before. The rule is he sits at the end of the table facing the captain, and my experience is that when the first officer happens to be a good fellow, which is not always the case, his end of the table is the most pleasant place. There is generally more fun and laughing at that end than there is at the other; for all the people who fancy that they are of importance make a point of getting seats as near as they can to the captain, and important people are not, as a rule, anything like as pleasant as the rest of us."

Wilfrid walked across the deck with Mr. Atherton to the point where his father and mother were sitting. "Mother, this is Mr. Atherton, who is in my cabin." Mr. Atherton shook hands with Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw.

"I asked your son to introduce me at once, Mrs. Renshaw, because, as I have been telling him, a good deal of the comfort of the voyage depends upon making a snug little party to sit together at meals. There is nothing I dread more than being put down between two acidulated women, who make a point of showing by their manner every time one sits down that they consider one is taking up a great deal more than one's share of the seat."

Mrs. Renshaw smiled. "I should think people were not often as rude as that."

"I can assure you that it is the rule rather than the exception, Mrs. Renshaw. I am not a particularly sensitive man, I think; but I make a point of avoiding crowded railway-carriages, being unable to withstand the expression of blank dismay that comes over the faces of people when I present myself at the door. I have thought sometimes of hiring a little boy of about four years old to go about with me, as the two of us would then only take up a fair share of space. I have been looking to the cabin arrangements, and find that each seat holds three. Your son and daughter are neither of them bulky, so if they won't mind sitting a little close they will be conferring a genuine kindness upon me."

"We shall not mind at all," Wilfrid and Marion exclaimed together, for there was something so pleasant about Mr. Atherton's manner they felt that he would be a delightful companion.

"Very well, then; we will regard that as settled. Then we five will occupy the seats on one side of the chief officer."

"We will get the two Allens opposite," Wilfrid put in."

"I will look about for three others to make up what I may call our party. Who do you fancy, Mrs. Renshaw? Now look round and fix on somebody, and I will undertake the duty of engineering the business."

"There are two girls, sisters, in my cabin," Marion said. "I think they seem nice. They are going out alone to join their father and mother in New Zealand."

"In that case, Mrs. Renshaw, I had better leave the matter in your hands."

"That will be very simple, Mr. Atherton, as I have already spoken to them," and she at once got up and moved across to two girls of about thirteen and seventeen respectively, who were standing together watching the passing ships, and entered into conversation with them. When she proposed that, as they were in the same cabin with Marion, they should sit near each other at table, they gladly agreed, saying, however, that they had been placed under the special care of the captain, and as he had said that he would keep them under his eye, they were afraid he might want them to sit near him.

"I will speak to the captain myself," Mrs. Renshaw said. "I daresay he will be rather glad to have the responsibility taken off his hands, especially if I propose, which I will if you like, to take you under my general charge."

"Oh, we should like that very much," the elder of the two girls said. "It seems so very strange to us being here among so many people without any lady with us. We should be so much obliged to you if you would take us under your wing."

"I can quite understand your feelings, my dears, and will speak to the captain directly. I see that he is disengaged. If we were under sail there would not be much chance of getting a word with him; but as the tug has us in charge, I see that he has time to chat to the passengers."

A few minutes later the captain left the gentleman with whom he was speaking and came along the deck. The Renshaws had made his acquaintance when they first came down to see their cabins.

"How are you, Mrs. Renshaw?" he said as he came up to her. "We have fine weather for our start, have we not? It is a great thing starting fair, as it enables people to settle down and make themselves at home."

"I have been chatting with the Miss Mitfords, captain; they are in the cabin with my daughter. They tell me that they are under your special charge."

"Yes, they are among the number of my responsibilities," the captain said smiling.

"They naturally feel rather lonely on board from having no lady with them, and have expressed their willingness to put themselves under my charge if you will sanction it. It will be pleasant both for them and my daughter, and they can sit down with us at meals, and make a party together to work or read on deck."

"I shall be extremely glad, Mrs. Renshaw, if you will accept the responsibility. A captain's hands are full enough without having to look after women. There are four or five single ladies on board, on all of whom I have promised to keep a watchful eye, and I shall be delighted to be relieved of the responsibility of two of them."

So the matter was arranged, and going down into the cabin a few minutes before the bell rang for dinner, the party succeeded in getting the places they desired. Mr. Atherton was next to the chief officer. Wilfrid sat next to him, Marion between her brother and Mrs. Renshaw, and Mr. Renshaw next. The two Allens faced Mr. Atherton and Wilfrid; the Miss Mitfords came next, facing Marion and her mother. A Captain Pearson and his wife were next to the Mitfords, while a civil engineer, Mr. Halbrook, occupied the vacant seat next to Mr. Renshaw. Once seated, the Renshaws speedily congratulated themselves on the arrangements that they had made as they saw the hesitating way in which the rest of the passengers took their places, and the looks of inquiry and doubt they cast at those who seated themselves next to them. For a time the meal was a silent one, friends talking together in low voices, but nothing like a general conversation being attempted. At the first officers' end of the table, however, the sound of conversation and laughter began at once.

"Have you room, Miss Renshaw? or do you already begin to regret your bargain?"

"I have plenty of room, thank you," Marion replied. "I hope that you have enough?"

"Plenty," Mr. Atherton answered. "I have just been telling your brother that if he finds I am squeezing him he must run his elbow into my ribs. Let me see, Mr. Ryan; it must be three years since we sat together."

"Just about that," the mate replied with a strong Irish accent. "You went with us from Japan to Singapore, did you not?"

"That was it, and a rough bout we had of it in that cyclone in the China Seas. You remember that I saved the ship then?"

"How was that, Mr. Atherton?" Wilfrid asked.

The first officer laughed. "Mr. Atherton always took a deal more credit to himself than we gave him. When the cyclone struck the ship and knocked her right down on her beam-ends, he happened to be sitting up to windward, and he always declared that if it hadn't been for his weight the ship would never have righted itself."

There was a general laugh at the mate's explanation.

"I always plant myself to windward in a gale," Mr. Atherton said gravely. "Shifting ballast is a most useful thing, although they have abolished it in yacht-racing. I was once in a canoe, down by Borneo, when a heavy squall struck us. I was sitting in the bottom of the boat when we saw it coming, and had just time to get up and sit on the weather gunwale when it struck us. If it had not been for me nothing could have saved the boat from capsizing. As it was it stood up as stiff as a rock, though, I own, I nearly drowned them all when the blow was over, for it stopped as suddenly as it began, and the boat as nearly as possible capsized with my weight. Indeed it would have done so altogether if it hadn't heeled over so sharply that I was chucked backwards into the sea. Fortunately the helmsman made a grab at me as I went past, and I managed to scramble on board again. Not that I should have sunk for I can float like a cork; but there are a good many sharks cruising about in those waters, and it is safer inside a boat than it is out. You see, Miss Renshaw, there are advantages in being stout. I should not wonder if your brother got just my size one day. My figure was very much like his once."

"Oh, I hope not!" Marion exclaimed. "That would be dreadful! No; I don't mean that," she went on hurriedly as Mr. Atherton's face assumed an expression of shocked surprise. "I mean that, although of course there may be many advantages in being stout, there are advantages in being thin too."

"I admit that," Mr. Atherton agreed; "but look at the disadvantages. A stout man escapes being sent trotted about on messages. Nobody would think of asking him to climb a ladder. He is not expected to dance. The thin man is squeezed into any odd corner; and is not treated with half the consideration that is given to a fat man. He worries about trifles, and has none of the quiet contentment that characterizes stout people. A stout man's food always agrees with him, or else he would not be stout; while the thin man suffers indigestion, dyspepsia, and perhaps jaundice. You see, my dear young lady, that almost all the advantages are on our side. Of course you will say I could not climb a ladder, but then I do not want to climb a ladder. I could not make the ascent of Matterhorn; but it is much more pleasant to sit at the bottom and see fools do it. I could not very well ride a horse unless it were a dray-horse; but then I have no partiality for horse exercise. Altogether I think I have every reason to be content. I can travel wherever I like, see whatever I want to see, and enjoy most of the good things of life."

"And hould your own in a scrimmage," Mr. Ryan put in laughing. "I can answer for that."

"If I am pushed to it," Mr. Atherton said modestly, "of course I try to do my best."

"Have you seen Mr. Atherton in a scrimmage?" Tom Allen asked the mate.

"I have; and a sharp one it was while it lasted."

"There is no occasion to say anything about it, Ryan," Mr. Atherton said hastily.

"But no reason in life why I should not," the mate replied. "What do you say, ladies and gentleman?"

There was a chorus of "Go on please, do let us hear about it," and he continued:

"I don't give Mr. Atherton the credit of saving our ship in the squall, but it would have gone badly with us if he hadn't taken part in the row we had. You see, we had a mixed crew on board, for the most part Chinamen and a few Lascars; for we were three years in the China Seas, and English sailors cannot well stand the heat out there, and besides don't like remaining in ships stopping there trading. So when, after we arrived at Shanghai, we got orders to stop and trade out there, most of them took their discharge, and we filled up with natives. Coming down from Japan that voyage there was a row. I forget what their pretext was now, but I have no doubt it was an arranged thing, and that they intended to take the ship and run her ashore on some of the islands, take what they fancied out of her, and make off in boats, or perhaps take her into one of those nests of pirates that abound among the islands.

"They felt so certain of overpowering us, for there were only the three officers, the boatswain, and two cabin passengers, that instead of rising by night, when they would no doubt have succeeded, they broke into mutiny at dinner-time—came aft in a body, clamouring that their food was unfit to eat. Then suddenly drawing weapons from beneath their clothes they rushed up the gangways on to the poop; and as none of us were armed, and had no idea of what was going to take place, they would have cut us down almost without resistance had it not been for our friend here. He was standing just at the top of the poop ladder when they came up, headed by their seraing. Mr. Atherton knocked the scoundrel down with a blow of his fist, and then, catching him by the ankles, whirled him round his head like a club and knocked the fellows down like ninepins as they swarmed up the gangway, armed with knives and creases.

"The captain, who was down below, had slammed and fastened the door opening on to the waist on seeing the fellows coming aft, and handed up to us through the skylight some loaded muskets, and managed, by standing on the table and taking our hands, to get up himself. Then we opened fire upon them, and in a very few minutes drove them down. We shot six of them. The seraing of course was killed, four of the others had their skulls fairly broken in by the blows that they had received, and five were knocked senseless. We chucked them down the hatchway to the others, had up four or five of the men to work the ship, and kept the rest fastened below until we got to Singapore and handed them over to the authorities. They all got long terms of penal servitude. Anyhow, Mr. Atherton saved our lives and the ship, so I think you will agree with me that he can hold his own in a scrimmage."

"It was very hot work," Mr. Atherton said with a laugh, "and I did not get cool again for two or three days afterwards. The idea of using a man as a club was not my own. Belzoni put down a riot among his Arab labourers, when he was excavating ruins somewhere out in Syria, I think it was, by knocking the ringleader down and using him as a club. I had been reading the book not long before, and it flashed across my mind as the seraing went down that he might be utilized. Fists are all very well, but when you have got fellows to deal with armed with knives and other cutting instruments it is better to keep them at a distance if you can."

"That was splendid!" Wilfrid exclaimed. "How I should like to have seen it!"

"It was good for the eyes," the mate said; "and bate Donnybrook entirely. Such a yelling and shouting as the yellow reptiles made you never heard."

By this time the meal was finished, and the passengers repaired on deck to find that the ship was just passing Sheerness.

"Who would have thought," Wilfrid said to his sister as he looked at Mr. Atherton, who had taken his seat in a great Indian reclining chair he had brought for his own use, and was placidly smoking a cigar, "that that easy, placid, pleasant-looking man could be capable of such a thing as that! Shouldn't I like to have been there!"

"So should I," Marion agreed; "though it must have been terrible to look at. He doesn't look as if anything would put him out. I expect Samson was something like him, only not so stout. He seems to have been very good-tempered except when people wanted to capture him; and was always ready to forgive that horrid woman who tried to betray him to his enemies. Well, everything is very nice—much nicer than I expected—and I feel sure that we shall enjoy the voyage very much."

CHAPTER III

THE VOYAGE.

In addition to those already named, the Flying Scud carried some twenty other cabin passengers. She took no emigrants forward, as she was full of cargo, and was not, moreover, going direct to New Zealand. There were therefore only three or four young men in addition to the Grimstones forward. The fine weather that had favoured the start accompanied them down the channel and across the bay. Life went on quietly on board. It was early in May when they started; and the evenings were still too chilly to permit of any sojourn on deck after sunset. Each day, however, the weather grew warmer, and by the time the vessel was off the coast of Portugal the evenings were warm and balmy.

"This is not at all what I expected," Marion Renshaw said, as she sat in a deck-chair, to Mr. Atherton, who was leaning against the bulwark smoking a cigar. "I thought we were going to have storms, and that every one was going to be sea-sick. That is what it is like in all the books I have read; and I am sure that I have not felt the least bit ill from the time we started."

"You have had everything in your favour. There has been just enough breeze to take us along at a fair rate with all our light canvas set, and yet not enough to cause more than a ripple on the sea. The ship has been as steady as if in port; but you must not flatter yourself this is going to last all the time. I think we shall have a change before long. The glass has fallen a little, and the wind has shifted its quarter two or three times during the day. The sky, too, does not look so settled as it has done. I think we shall have a blow before long."

"What! A storm, Mr. Atherton?"

"No, I don't say that; but wind enough to get up a bit of sea, and to make landsmen feel very uncomfortable."

"But I suppose we should not be ill now even if it were rough, after being a week at sea?"

"I do not think you would be likely to be ill so long as you might have been had you encountered a gale directly we got out of the river, but I think that if it comes on rough all those addicted to sea-sickness are likely to suffer more or less. Some people are ill every time rough weather comes along, however long the voyage. I suppose you don't know yet whether you are a good sailor or not?"

Marion shook her head. "We have been at the seaside almost every year, but we have never gone out in boats much there. Papa was always too busy to go, and I don't think he likes it. Mother gets a bad headache, even if she isn't ill. So I very seldom went out, and never when it was the least rough."

Mr. Atherton's predictions turned out well founded. The wind got up during the night and was blowing freshly in the morning, and only two or three of the lady passengers made their appearance at breakfast; and several of the gentlemen were also absent. Wilfrid, to his great satisfaction, felt so far no symptoms whatever of impending illness. The two Allens were obliged to keep on deck during the meal, being unable to stand the motion below; but they were well enough to enjoy the cup of tea and plate of cold meat Wilfrid carried up to them. An hour or two later they went below. The wind was rising and the sea hourly getting up. Marion came up after breakfast, and for some time afterwards walked up and down on the deck with Wilfrid enjoying the brisk air, and considering it great fun to try to walk straight up and down the swaying deck. Presently, however, her laugh became subdued and her cheeks lost their colour.

"I am afraid I am going to be ill, Wilfrid; but I shall stay on deck if I can. Both the Mitfords are ill, I am sure, for neither of them got up, though they declared that they felt nothing the matter with them. I have made up my mind to stay on deck as long as I possibly can."

"That is the best way," Mr. Atherton said as he joined them in their walk, and caught the last sentence. "There is nothing like keeping up as long as possible; because if you do so it will sometimes pass off after a short time, whereas if you give up and take to your berth it is sure to run its course, which is longer or shorter according to circumstances—sometimes two days and sometimes five; but I should say that people who are what you may call fair sailors generally get over it in two days, unless the weather is very bad. So fight against it as long as you can, and when you cannot bear it any longer I will wrap you up in rugs, and you shall have my great chair to curl up in close by the lee bulwark. But determination goes a long way, and you may get over it yet. You take my arm, you won't throw me off my balance; while if the vessel gives a sharper roll than usual, you and your brother may both lose your feet together."

As soon as they started on their walk Mr. Atherton began an amusing story of some adventure of his in the Western States of America, and Marion was so interested that she forgot all about her uncomfortable sensation, and was astonished when on hearing the lunch-bell ring she discovered she was getting perfectly well.

"Where is Wilfrid?" she asked.

"There he is, leaning over the lee bulwark; the fiend of sea-sickness has him in its grip."

"Only think of Wilfrid being unwell and me being all right! You have quite driven it away, Mr. Atherton, for I was feeling very poorly when I began to walk with you."

"I will go down and get you some luncheon and bring it up here to you. Curl yourself up in my chair until I return, and do not think more about the motion than you can help. You had better not go near your brother—people who are ill hate being pitied."

An hour later Wilfrid went below. In the evening, however, the wind dropped considerably, and the next morning the sea was sparkling in the sunlight, and the Flying Scud was making her way along with a scarcely perceptible motion. Thenceforth the weather was delightful throughout the voyage to Rio. The passengers found upon closer acquaintance that they all got on well together, and the days passed away pleasantly. In the evenings the piano was brought up from the cabin on to the deck, and for two or three hours there was singing, varied by an occasional dance among the young people.

From the day of their leaving England Mr. Atherton had been the leading spirit on board the ship. If a misunderstanding arose he acted as mediator. He was ever ready to propose pastimes and amusements to lighten the monotony of the voyage, took the leading part in the concerts held on deck when the evenings were calm and clear, and was full of resource and invention. With the four or five children on board he was prime favourite, and Mr. Renshaw often wondered at the patience and good temper with which he submitted to all their whims, and was ready to give up whatever he was doing to submit himself to their orders. He had, before they had been ten days at sea, talked over with Mr. Renshaw the latter's plans, and advised him upon no account to be in a hurry to snap up the first land offered to him.

"Half the people who come out to the colonies," he said, "get heavily bit at first by listening to the land-agents, and allowing themselves to be persuaded into buying property which, when they come to take possession of it, is in a majority of the cases almost worthless. I should advise you when you get there to hire a house in Wellington, where you can leave your wife and daughter while you examine the various districts and see which offer the greatest advantages. If you do not feel equal to it yourself, let your son go in your place. He is, I think, a sharp young fellow, and not likely to be easily taken in. At any rate, when he has made his report as to the places that seem most suitable, you can go and see their relative advantages before purchasing.

"'There is no greater mistake than buying land in a locality of which you know nothing. You may find that the roads are impracticable and that you have no means of getting your produce to market, and after a while you will be glad to sell your place for a mere song and shift to another which you might at first have obtained at a price much lower than you gave for your worthless farm. I have knocked about in the States a good deal, and have known scores of men ruined by being too hasty in making a choice. You want to be in a colony six months at least before investing your money in land, so as to know something of the capabilities and advantages of each district. To a young man I should say—travel about in the colony, working your way, and making a stay of a month here and a month there. Of course in your case this is out of the question; but a personal examination of the places offered to you, which in nine cases out of ten men are ready to sell for less than they have cost them, will ensure you against absolute swindling."

"What are you going to do yourself, Mr. Atherton?"

"I have come out simply to study the botany of the island. I may stay in the colony for a month or for a year. At any rate, if you depute Wilfrid to travel about to examine the various districts where land can be bought, I shall be glad to accompany him, as I myself shall also be on the look-out."

"You are not thinking of farming, Mr. Atherton?"

"No. My own idea is to take a bit of land on one of the rivers, to get up a hut to serve as my head-quarters, and to spend much of my time in travelling about. I am very fortunately placed. I have ample funds to enable me to live in comfort, and I am free to indulge my fancy for wandering as I please. I consider that I have been spoiled by being my own master too young. I think it is bad for a young man to start in life with a competence; but when it comes to one in middle age, when one has learned to spend it rationally, it is undoubtedly a very great comfort and advantage. I suppose, however, that the time will come when I shall settle down. I am thirty-five, and I ought to 'range myself,' as the French say."

Mr. Atherton had not been long upon the voyage when he discovered that the chances of success of the Renshaw party as settlers would be small indeed if they depended upon the exertions of the head of the family. He had not been more than a day or two on board before Mr. Renshaw began to discuss his favourite hobby with him, and confided to him that he intended thoroughly to investigate the history, customs, and religion of the Maoris, and to produce an exhaustive work on the subject. "An excellent idea, very," the stout man said encouragingly, "but one demanding great time and investigation; and perhaps," he added doubtfully, "one more suited to a single man, who can go and live among the natives and speak their language, than for a married man with a family to look after."

Mr. Renshaw waved the remark aside lightly. "I shall, of course, set to work immediately I arrive to acquire a thorough knowledge of the language, and indeed have already begun with a small dictionary and a New Testament in the Maori language, brought out by the Missionary Society. As to my family, my exertions in the farming way will be of no use whatever to them. My wife and daughter will look after the house, and Wilfrid will undertake the management of the men out of doors. The whole scheme is theirs, and I should be of no assistance to them whatever. My bent lies entirely in the direction of archæology, and there can be little doubt that my thorough acquaintance with all relating to the habits, and, so far as is known, of the language of the ancient Britons, Saxons, Danes, and the natives of the northern part of the island, will be of inestimable advantage in enabling me to carry out the subject I have resolved to take up. There are analogies and similarities between the habits of all primitive peoples, and one accustomed to the study of the early races of Europe can form a general opinion of the habits and mode of living of a tribe merely from the inspection of an ancient weapon or two, a bracelet, and a potsherd."

Mr. Atherton looked down upon his companion with half-closed eyes, and seemed to be summing him up mentally; after a short conversation he turned away, and as he filled his pipe muttered to himself: "It is well for the family that the mother seems a capable and sensible woman, and that the lad, unless I am mistaken, has a dogged resolution about him as well as spirit and courage. The girl, too, is a bright sensible lass, and they may get on in spite of this idiot of a father. However, the man shows that he possesses a certain amount of sense by the confidence with which he throws the burden of the whole business of providing a living for the family on their shoulders.

"Of course they would be much better without him, for I can foresee he will give them an awful lot of trouble. He will go mooning away among the natives, and will be getting lost and not heard of for a tremendous time. Still, I don't know that he will come to much harm. The Maoris have fine traits of character, and though they have been fighting about what they call the king question, they have seldom been guilty of any acts of hostility to isolated settlers, and a single white man going among them has always been received hospitably; besides, they will probably think him mad, and savages have always a sort of respect for madmen. Still, he will be a terrible worry to his family. I have taken a fancy to the others, and if I can do them a good turn out there in any way I will."

As the voyage went on Mr. Atherton's liking for Mrs. Renshaw, her son and daughter, increased greatly, while his contempt for Mr. Renshaw became modified as he came to know him better. He found that he was really a capable man in his own particular hobby, and that although weak and indecisive he was very kind and affectionate with his wife and children, and reposed an almost childlike confidence in his wife's good sense.

Madeira had been sighted lying like a great cloud on the horizon, and indeed the young Renshaws had difficulty when they came up on deck in the morning in believing that it was really land they saw. No stay was made here, nor did they catch a glimpse of the Canary Islands, being too far to the west to see even the lofty peak of Teneriffe. The first time the ship dropped anchor was at St. Jago, one of the Cape de Verde Islands; here they took in a supply of fresh water, meat, and vegetables. The passengers all landed, but were much disappointed with the sandy and uninteresting island, and it was no consolation for them to learn from the captain that parts of the island were much more fertile, although the vegetables and fruit came for the most part from the other islands. "Now," he said, "if all goes well you will see no land again till you get to Rio. We shall keep to the east of St. Paul, and unless we get blown out of our course we shall not go near Ascension."

As the wind continued favourable the ship kept her course, and at twelve o'clock one day the captain, after taking his observations, told them that he expected to be in Rio on the following evening. The next morning when they came up on deck land was in sight, and in the evening they dropped anchor in the harbour of Rio, one of the finest ports in the world.

"Yes, it is a splendid harbour," Mr. Atherton agreed as he listened to the exclamations of delight of the Renshaws. "I do not know that it is the finest, but it is certainly equal to any I have ever seen. As a harbour New York is better, because even more landlocked. San Francisco is, both in that respect and in point of scenery, superb. Bombay is a grand harbour, but exposed to certain winds. Taken altogether, I think I should give the palm to San Francisco."

A few minutes after the anchor had dropped a number of shore-boats came alongside filled with luscious fruit, and rowed for the most part by negroes, who chatted and shouted and gesticulated, making such a din that it was impossible to distinguish a single word amid the uproar. Wilfrid, the Allens, and others quickly ran down the ladders, and without troubling themselves to bargain returned with quantities of fruit. Several negresses soon followed them on to the deck, and going up to the ladies produced cards and letters testifying that they were good washerwomen and their terms reasonable. The captain had the evening before told them it would take him three or four days to discharge his cargo for Rio, and that they had better take advantage of the opportunity if they wanted any washing done. They had, therefore, got everything in readiness, and in a few minutes numerous canvas bags filled with linen were deposited in the boats.

In addition to the fruit several great bouquets of gorgeous flowers had been purchased, and the cabin that evening presented quite a festive appearance. After it became dark and the lights of Rio sparkled out, all agreed that the scene was even more beautiful than by daylight. The air was deliciously balmy and soft, the sea as smooth as glass. The moon was nearly full, and the whole line of the shore could be distinctly seen. Boats flitted about between the vessels and the strand; fishing-boats, with their sails hanging motionless, slowly made their way in by the aid of oars. The sounds of distant music in the city came across the water.

There was no singing or dancing on board the Flying Scud that evening. All were content to sit quiet and enjoy the scene, and such conversation as there was was carried on in low tones, as if they were under a spell which they feared to break. The next morning all went ashore soon after breakfast; but upon their assembling at dinner it was found that the general impression was one of disappointment. It was a fine city, but not so fine as it looked from the water. Except the main thoroughfares the streets were narrow, and, as the ladies declared, dirty. The young people, however, were not so critical; they had been delighted with the stir and movement, the bright costumes, the variety of race and colour, and the novelty of everything they saw.

"The negroes amuse me most," Marion said. "They seem to be always laughing. I never saw such merry people."

"They are like children," her father said. "The slightest thing causes them amusement. It is one of the signs of a low type of intellect when people are given to laugh at trifles."

"Then the natives ought to be very intelligent," Marion said, "for as a whole they appeared to me to be a serious race. Of course I saw many of them laughing and chattering, but most of them are very quiet in manner. The old people seem to be wrinkled in a wonderful way. I never saw English people so wrinkled."

"All southern races show age in that way," Mr. Atherton said. "You see marvellous old men and women in Spain and Italy. People who, as far as looks go, might be a hundred and fifty—little dried-up specimens of humanity, with faces more like those of monkeys than men."

"Are the negroes slaves, Mr. Atherton? They still have slavery in Brazil, do they not? They certainly are not at all according to my idea of slaves."

"The estates are mostly worked by negro slaves," Mr. Atherton said, "and no doubt many of those you saw to-day are also slaves. Household slavery is seldom severe, and I believe the Brazilians are generally kind masters. But probably the greater portion of the negroes you saw are free. They may have purchased their freedom with their savings, or may have been freed by kind masters. It is no very unusual thing for a Brazilian at his death to leave a will giving freedom to all his slaves. Government is doing its best to bring about the entire extinction of slavery. I believe that all children born after a certain date have been declared free, and have no doubt that in time slavery will be abolished. Great changes like this take some time to carry out, and even for the sake of the slaves themselves it is better to proceed quietly and gradually. I suppose nobody inclines to go on shore again to-night?"

There was a general negative. The day had been very warm, and having been walking about for hours no one felt any inclination to make a fresh start. The following morning the vessel began to unload her cargo. Some of the older passengers declared that they had had enough of shore, and should not land—at any rate until the afternoon. The rest went ashore; but the greater part of them returned at lunch-time, and the heat in the afternoon was so great that none cared to land again.

In the evening the two Allens and Wilfrid agreed to go ashore to visit a theatre. Mr. Atherton said that as he had no inclination to melt away all at once he would not join them, but would land with them and stroll about for a time, and see the town in its evening aspect. Several other parties were made up among the male passengers, and one or two of the ladies accompanied their husbands.

Wilfrid and the Allens did not stay out the performance. The heat was very great, and as they did not understand a word of the dialogue they soon agreed that it would be more pleasant to stroll about, or to sit down in the open air before a café and sip iced drinks.

Accordingly after walking about for a while they sat down before a café in the Grand Square, and as they sipped iced lemonade looked on with much amusement at the throng walking up and down.

"It is later than I thought," James Allen said, looking at his watch. "It is nearly twelve o'clock, and high time for us to be on board."

They started to make what they thought would prove a short cut down to the landing-place; but as usual the short cut proved delusive, and they soon found themselves wandering in unknown streets. They asked several persons they met the way down to the water, but none of them understood English, and it was a considerable time before they emerged from the streets on to the line of quays.

"We are ever so much too far to the right," James Allen said as they looked round. "I fancy that is the ship's light not far from the shore half a mile away on the left. I hope we shall find some boatmen to take us off; it would be rather awkward finding ourselves here for the night in a place where no one understands the language."

"I think we should manage all right," Wilfrid said. "We know the way from the place where we landed up into the part where the hotels are, and are sure to find people there who understand English. Still I hope it will not come to that. They would be in a great fidget on board if we were not to turn up to-night."

"I do not think they would be alarmed," James Allen replied. "Every one is in bed and asleep long ago, and we should be on board in the morning before the steward went to our cabin and found that we were missing. I consider we are quite safe in that respect, but Atherton might be doing something if he found we did not come back."

"He might do something, perhaps," Wilfrid said; "but I am quite sure he would not alarm my father and mother about it. He is the last sort of fellow to do that."

CHAPTER IV.

A ROW ON SHORE.

While Wilfrid and the Allens were talking they were walking briskly in the direction of their landing-place. They had arrived within a hundred yards of it, when a party of four men who were lying among a pile of timber got up and came across towards them. They were rough-looking fellows, and James Allen said, "I do not like the look of these chaps. I think they mean mischief. Look out!" As he spoke the men rushed at them. James Allen gave a loud shout for help and then struck a blow at a man who rushed at him. The fellow staggered backwards, and with a fierce exclamation in Portuguese drew a knife. A moment later Allen received a sharp stab on the shoulder, and was knocked to the ground. The other two after a short struggle had also been overpowered and borne down, but in their case the robbers had not used their knives.

They were feeling in their pockets when the step of a man approaching at full speed was heard. One of the robbers was about to run off, when another exclaimed: "You coward! It is but one man, which means more booty. Out with your knives and give him a taste of them as he comes up!" A moment later the man ran up. The leader stepped forward to meet him, knife in hand; but as he struck his wrist was grasped, and a tremendous blow was delivered in his face, hurling him stunned and bleeding to the ground. With a bound the new-comer threw himself upon two of the other men. Grasping them by their throats he shook them as if they had been children, and then dashed their heads together with such tremendous force that when he loosened his grasp both fell insensible on the ground. The other robber took to his heels at the top of his speed. All this had passed so quickly that the struggle was over before Wilfrid and the Allens could get to their feet.

"Not hurt, I hope?" their rescuer asked anxiously.

"Why, Mr. Atherton, is it you?" Wilfrid exclaimed. "You arrived at a lucky moment indeed. No, I am not hurt that I know of, beyond a shake."

"Nor I," Bob Allen said.

"I have got a stab in my shoulder," James Allen answered. "I don't know that it is very deep, but I think it is bleeding a good deal, for I feel very shaky. That fellow has got my watch," and he pointed to the man who had been first knocked down.

"Look in his hand, Wilfrid. He won't have had time to put it in his pocket. If you have lost anything else look in the other fellows' hands or on the ground close to them."

He lifted James Allen, who was now scarcely able to stand, carried him to the wood pile, and seated him on a log with his back against another. Then he took off his coat and waistcoat, and tore open his shirt. "It is nothing serious," he said. "It is a nasty gash and is bleeding freely, but I daresay we can stop that; I have bandaged up plenty of worse wounds in my time." He drew the edge of the wound together, and tied his handkerchief and that of Wilfrid tightly round it. "That will do for the present," he said. "Now I will carry you down to the boat," and lifting the young fellow up as though he were a feather he started with him.

"Shall we do anything with these fellows, Mr. Atherton?" Wilfrid asked.

"No, leave them as they are; what they deserve is to be thrown into the sea. I daresay their friend will come back to look after them presently."

In a couple of minutes they arrived at the landing-place, where two men were sitting in a boat.

"But how did you come to be here, Mr. Atherton?" Wilfrid asked when they had taken their seats.

"I came to look after you boys, Wilfrid. I got on board about eleven, and on going down to the cabin found you had not returned, so I thought I would smoke another cigar and wait up for you. At twelve o'clock the last party returned, and as I thought you might have some difficulty in getting on board after that, I got into the boat and rowed ashore, and engaged the men to wait as long as I wanted them. I thought perhaps you had missed your way, and did not feel uneasy about you, for there being three of you together it was scarcely likely you had got into any bad scrape. I was beginning at last to think you had perhaps gone to an hotel for the night, and that it was no use waiting any longer, when I heard your voices coming along the quays. The night is so quiet that I heard your laugh some distance away, and recognized it. I then strolled along to meet you, when I saw those four fellows come out into the moonlight from a shadow in the wood. I guessed that they were up to mischief, and started to run at once, and was within fifty yards of you when I saw the scuffle and caught the glint of the moon on the blade of a knife. Another five or six seconds I was up, and then there was an end of it. Now we are close to the ship. Go up as quietly as you can, and do not make a noise as you go into your cabins. It is no use alarming people. I will carry Jim down."

"I can walk now, I think, Mr. Atherton."

"You might do, but you won't, my lad; for if you did you would probably start your wound bleeding afresh. You two had best take your shoes off directly you get on deck."

James Allen was carried down and laid on his berth. Mr. Atherton went and roused the ship's doctor, and then lighted the lamp in the cabin.

"What is all this about?" the surgeon asked as he came in.

"There has been a bit of a scrimmage on shore," Mr. Atherton replied; "and, as you see, Allen has got a deepish slash from the shoulder down to the elbow. It has been bleeding very freely, and he is faint from loss of blood; but I do not think it is serious at all."

"No, it is a deep flesh wound," the doctor said, examining him; "but there is nothing to be in the slightest degree uneasy about. I will get a bandage from my cabin, and some lint, and set it all right in five minutes."

When the arm was bandaged, Mr. Atherton said: "Now I must get you to do a little plastering for me doctor."

"What! are you wounded, Mr. Atherton?" the others exclaimed in surprise.

"Nothing to speak of, lads; but both those fellows made a slash at me as I closed with them. I had but just finished their leader and could do no more than strike wildly as I turned upon them." As he spoke he was taking off his waistcoat and shirt.

"By Jove, you have had a narrow escape!" the doctor said; "and how you take it so coolly I cannot make out. Except as to the bleeding, they are both far more serious than Allen's."

One of the wounds was in the left side, about three inches below the arm. The man had evidently struck at the heart, but the quickness with which Mr. Atherton had closed with him had disconcerted his aim; the knife had struck rather far back, and glancing behind the ribs had cut a deep gash under the shoulder-blade. The other wound had been given by a downright blow at the right side, and had laid open the flesh from below the breast down to the hip.

"It is only a case for plaster," Mr. Atherton said. "It is useful to have a casing of fat sometimes. It is the same thing with a whale—you have got to drive a harpoon in very deep to get at the vitals. You see this wound in front has bled very little."

"You have lost a good deal of blood from the other cut," the surgeon said. "I will draw the edges of the wounds together with a needle and thread, and will then put some bandages on. You will have to keep quiet for some days. Your wounds are much too serious to think of putting plaster on at present."

"I have had a good deal more serious wounds than these," Mr. Atherton said cheerfully, "and have had to ride seventy or eighty miles on the following day. However I will promise you not to go ashore to-morrow; and as the captain says he expects to be off the next morning, I shall be able to submit myself to your orders without any great privation."

"Why did you not say that you were wounded, Mr. Atherton?" Wilfrid said reproachfully as they went to their own cabin and prepared to turn in.

"To tell you the truth, Wilfrid, I hardly thought the wounds were as deep as they are. My blood was up, you see, and when that is the case you are scarcely conscious of pain. I felt a sharp shooting sensation on both sides as I grasped those fellows by the throat, and afterwards I knew I was bleeding a bit at the back, for I felt the warmth of the blood down in my shoe; but there was nothing to prevent my carrying young Allen, and one person can carry a wounded man with much more ease to him than two can do, unless of course they have got a stretcher."

The next morning there was quite a stir in the ship when it was known that two of the passengers were wounded, and Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw were greatly alarmed when they heard of the risk Wilfrid had run. Neither of the wounded men appeared at breakfast, as the surgeon insisted that both should lie quiet for at least one day. Mr. Renshaw had paid a visit to Mr. Atherton directly he had heard from Wilfrid his story of the fray, and thanked him most warmly for his intervention on behalf of his son. "Wilfrid said he has very little doubt that they all three would have been stabbed if you had not come up."

"I do not say they might not," Mr. Atherton said, "because their resistance had raised the men's anger; and in this country when a man is angry he generally uses his knife. Besides, dead men raise no alarm. Still they might have contented themselves with robbing them. However, I own that it was lucky I was on the spot."

"But it was not a question of luck at all," Mr. Renshaw insisted. "You were there because you had specially gone ashore to look after these foolish young fellows, and your being there was the result of your own thoughtfulness for them, and not in any way of chance."

"There is quite a crowd on the quay, Mr. Renshaw," the captain said when that gentleman went on deck, "I suppose they have found stains of blood in the road and conclude that a crime has been committed. Oh, here is our boat putting out from the landing-place. The steward has been on shore to get fresh fruit for breakfast; he will tell us what is going on."

The steward had gone ashore before the news of the encounter had been spread by the surgeon.

"What is the excitement about on shore?" the captain asked him as he stepped on deck.

"Well, sir, as far as I could learn from a chap who spoke a little English, there have been bad doings on shore in the night. Two men were found this morning lying dead there. There is nothing uncommon about that; but they say there are no wounds on them, except that their skulls are stove in, as if they had both been struck by a beam of wood at the back of the head. But besides that there were two or three pools of blood in the road. It seems one man walked back into the town, for there are marks of his feet as if he stepped in the blood before starting in that direction. Then there is a line of blood spots down to the landing-place and down the steps, as if somebody had got into a boat. Nobody seems to make head nor tail of the business."

"Well, we must keep this quiet if we can," the captain said, turning to Mr. Renshaw. "If it were known that any of our people were concerned in this affair they might keep us here for three weeks or a month while it is being investigated, or insist upon Mr. Atherton and your son and the Allens remaining behind as witnesses. Mr. Ryan," he called to the first-mate, "just come here a moment. This matter is more serious than we thought. It seems that Mr. Atherton, who, as we have heard, dashed the heads of two of these fellows together, killed them on the spot."

"Sure and I thought as much when young Allen was telling me about it," the mate said. "I have seen Mr. Atherton at work before this, and I thought to myself that unless those fellows' skulls were made of iron, and thick at that, they must have gone in when he brought them together."

"The worst of it is," the captain went on, "they have traced marks of blood down to the landing-stage, and of course have suspicion that someone concerned in the affair took a boat, and either came off to one of the ships or went away in one of the fishing craft. You know what these fellows are; if they find out that anyone on board is mixed up in the matter, they will keep the ship here for a month."

"That is true enough, sir. It is mighty lucky we would be if we got away in a month."

"The first thing is to see about the boatmen," the captain said. "Of course if they tell the authorities they brought a wounded man on board here late last night there is an end of it; but if they hold their tongues, and we all keep our own council, the thing may not leak out to-day, and we will have our anchor up and get out this evening if we can. You had better tell all the crew that not a word is to be said about the matter, and I will impress the same on the passengers. When they know that a careless word may lead to a month's detention, you may be sure there will be no talking. But before you speak to them I will go down and see Mr. Atherton, and hear what he says about the boatmen." He returned in two or three minutes. "I hope it will be all right," he said. "Atherton gave them a pound apiece, and told them to hold their tongues. He thinks it is probable they will do so, for they would know well enough that they would, as likely as not, be clapped into prison and kept there while the investigation was going on. So there is a strong hope that it may not leak out through them. You must stop all leave ashore, Mr. Ryan. Tell the men whose turn it is to go, they shall have their spree at Buenos Ayres. If they were to get drunk it would be as likely as not to slip out."

"I will see to it, sir."

Directly breakfast was over the captain took a boat and went ashore. He had duly impressed upon all the passengers the absolute necessity for silence, and several of these went ashore with him. He returned half an hour later, having been up to the British Consulate.

"The affair is making quite a stir in the town. Not on account of two men being found dead, there is nothing uncommon in that, especially as they have been recognized as two notorious ruffians; but the whole circumstances of the affair puzzle them.

"The doctors who have examined the bodies have arrived pretty well at the truth, and say that both men have been gripped by the throat, for the marks of the fingers are plainly visible, and their heads dashed together. But although this is, as we know, perfectly true, no one believes it; for the doctors themselves admit that it does not appear to them possible that any man would have had the strength requisite to completely batter in the skulls of two others, as has been done in this case. The police are searching the town for the man whose footsteps led in that direction, and as they know all the haunts of these ruffians and their associates it is likely enough that they will find him, especially as his face is sure to bear marks of Atherton's handiwork. Still, if they do find him, and he tells all he knows of the business, they will not be much nearer to tracing the actors in it to this ship. It is not probable that he recovered his senses until long after they were on board the boat, and can only say that while engaged in attempting to rob some passers-by he was suddenly knocked down. But even this they are not likely to get out of him first, for he will know that he used a knife, and is not likely to put himself in the way of punishment if he can help it. I came off at once, because I heard at the Consulate that the police are going to search every ship in the harbour to see if they can find some wounded man, or get some clue to the mystery, so I must ask the doctor if his two patients are fit to be dressed and go up on deck."

The doctor on being consulted said that he should certainly have preferred that they should have remained quiet all day, but he did not know that it would do them any harm to get on deck for a bit. And accordingly in half an hour Mr. Atherton and James Allen came up. The doctor, who had assisted them to dress, accompanied them.

"Now, Mr. Atherton, you had better seat yourself in that great deck-chair of yours with the leg-rest. If you sit there quietly reading when they come on board they are not likely to suspect you of being a desperate character, or to appreciate your inches and width of shoulder. Allen had better sit quiet till they get alongside, and then slip that sling into his pocket and walk up and down talking to one of the ladies, with his thumb in his waistcoat so as to support his arm. He looks pale and shaky; but they are not accustomed to much colour here, and he will pass well enough."

As soon as Mr. Atherton had taken his seat Mrs. Renshaw and Marion came up to him. "How can we thank you enough, Mr. Atherton, for the risks you have run to succour Wilfrid, and for your kind consideration in going on shore to wait for him?"

"It was nothing, Mrs. Renshaw. I own to enjoying a scrimmage when I can go into one with the feeling of being in the right. You know that I am a very lazy man, but it is just your lazy men who do enjoy exerting themselves occasionally."

"It was grand!" Marion broke in; "and you ought not to talk as if it was nothing, Mr. Atherton. Wilfrid said that he thought it was all over with him till he saw a big man flying down the road."

"A perfect colossus of Rhodes!" Mr. Atherton laughed.

"It is not a thing to joke about," Marion went on earnestly. "It may seem very little to you, Mr. Atherton, but it is everything to us."

"Don't you know that one always jokes when one is serious, Miss Renshaw? You know that in church any little thing that you would scarcely notice at any other time makes you inclined to laugh. Some day in the far distance, when you become a woman, you will know the truth of the saying, that smiles and tears are very close to each other."

"I am getting to be a woman now," Marion said with some dignity; for Mr. Atherton always persisted in treating her as if she were a child, which, as she was nearly seventeen, was a standing grievance to her.

"Age does not make a woman, Miss Renshaw. I saw you skipping three days ago with little Kate Mitford and your brother and young Allen, and you enjoyed it as much as any of them."

"We were trying which could keep up the longest," Marion said; "Wilfrid and I against the other two. You were looking on, and I believe you would have liked to have skipped too."

"I think I should," Mr. Atherton agreed. "You young people do not skip half as well as we used to when I was a boy; and I should have given you a lesson if I had not been afraid of shaking the ship's timbers to pieces."

"How absurd you are, Mr. Atherton!" Marion said pettishly. "Of course you are not thin, but you always talk of yourself as if you were something monstrous."

Mr. Atherton laughed. His diversion had had the desired effect, and had led them away from the subject of the fight on shore.

"There is a galley putting off from shore with a lot of officials on board," the captain said, coming up at this moment. "They are rowing to the next ship, and I suppose they will visit us next."

A quarter of an hour later the galley came alongside, and three officials mounted the gangway. The captain went forward to meet them. "Is there anything I can do for you, gentlemen?"

"There has been a crime committed on shore," the leader of the party said, "and it is suspected that some of those concerned in the matter are on board one of the ships in the harbour. I have authority to make a strict search on board each."

"You are perfectly welcome to do so, sir," the captain said. "One of our officers will show you over the ship."

"I must trouble you to show me your list of passengers and crew, and to muster the men on deck. But first I must ask you, Did any of your boats return on board late?"

"No," the captain replied. "Our last boat was hauled up to the davits at half-past nine. There was a heavy day's work before the men to-day, and I therefore refused leave on shore."

The men were ordered to be mustered, and while they were collecting the second-mate went round the ship with the officials, and they saw that no one was below in his berth. The men's names were called over from the list, and the officials satisfied that all were present and in good health.

"Now for the passengers," he said

"I cannot ask them to muster," the captain observed, "but I will walk round with you and point out those on the list. There are some eight or ten on shore. They will doubtless be off to lunch; and if you leave an officer on board he will see that they are by no means the sort of people to take part in such an affair as that which has happened on shore."

The officials went round the deck, but saw nothing whatever to excite their suspicion. Marion Renshaw was laughing and talking with Mr. Atherton, Miss Mitford walking up and down the poop in conversation with James Allen. After they had finished their investigations, the officials left one of their party to inspect the remaining passengers as they came on board, and to check them off the list. They then again took their seats in the galley and were rowed to the next ship.

By dint of great exertions the cargo was got out by sunset, the sails were at once loosened and the anchor weighed, and before the short twilight had faded away the Flying Scud was making her way with a gentle breeze towards the mouth of the harbour.

"We are well out of that," Mr. Atherton said as he looked back at the lights of the city.

"I think you are very well out of it indeed, in more senses than one," said the surgeon, who was standing next to him; "but you have had a wonderfully close shave of it, Mr. Atherton. Another inch and either of those blows might have been fatal. Besides, had you been detained for a month or six weeks, it is as likely as not that, what with the heat and what with the annoyance, your wound would have taken a bad turn. Now, you must let me exercise my authority and order you to your berth immediately. You ought not to have been out of it. Of the two evils, getting up and detention, I chose the least; but I should be glad now if you would go off at once. If you do not, I can assure you I may have you on my hands all the rest of the voyage."

"I will obey orders, doctor. The more willingly because for the last hour or two my back has been smarting unmercifully. I do not feel the other wound much."

"That is because you have been sitting still. You will find it hurt you when you come to walk. Please go down carefully; a sudden movement might start your wounds again."

It was two or three days before Mr. Atherton again appeared on deck. His left arm was bandaged tightly to his body so as to prevent any movement of the shoulder-blade, and he walked stiffly to the deck-chair, which had been piled with cushions in readiness.

"I am glad to be out again, Mrs. Renshaw," Mr. Atherton said as she arranged the cushions to suit him. "Your husband, with Wilfrid and the two Allens, have kept me company, one or other of them, all the time, so I cannot say I have been dull. But it was much hotter below than it is here. However, I know the doctor was right in keeping me below, for the slightest movement gave me a great deal of pain. However, the wounds are going on nicely, and I hope by the time we get to Buenos Ayres I shall be fit for a trip on shore again."

"I hardly think so, Mr. Atherton; for if the weather continues as it is now—it is a nice steady breeze, and we have been running ever since we left Rio—I think we shall be there long before you are fit to go ashore."

"I do not particularly care about it," Mr. Atherton said. "Buenos Ayres is not like Rio, but is for the most part quite a modern town, and even in situation has little to recommend it. Besides, we shall be so far off that there will be no running backwards and forwards between the ship and the shore as there was at Rio. Of course it depends a good deal on the amount of the water coming down the river, but vessels sometimes have to anchor twelve miles above the town."

"I am sure I have no desire to go ashore," Mrs. Renshaw said, "and after the narrow escape Wilfrid had at Rio I should be glad if he did not set foot there again until we arrive at the end of the voyage."

"He is not likely to get into a scrape again," Mr. Atherton said. "Of course it would have been wiser not to have stopped so late as they did in a town of whose ways they knew nothing; but you may be sure he will be careful another time. Besides, I fancy from what I have heard things are better managed there, and the population are more peaceable and orderly than at Rio. But, indeed, such an adventure as that which befell them might very well have happened to any stranger wandering late at night in the slums of any of our English seaports."

There was a general feeling of disappointment among the passengers when the Flying Scud dropped anchor in the turbid waters of the La Plata. The shore was some five or six miles away, and was low and uninteresting. The towers and spires of the churches of Buenos Ayres were plainly visible, but of the town itself little could be seen. As soon as the anchor was dropped the captain's gig was lowered, and he started for shore to make arrangements for landing the cargo. The next morning a steam tug brought out several flats, and the work of unloading commenced. A few passengers went ashore in the tug, but none of the Renshaws left the ship. Two days sufficed for getting out the goods for Buenos Ayres. The passengers who had been staying at hotels on shore came off with the last tug to the ship. Their stay ashore had been a pleasant one, and they liked the town, which, in point of cleanliness and order, they considered to be in advance of Rio.

CHAPTER V.

A BOAT EXPEDITION.

"Well I am not sorry we are off again," Marion Renshaw said as the men ran round with the capstan bars and the anchor came up from the shallow water. "What a contrast between this and Rio!"

"It is, indeed," Mr. Atherton, who was standing beside her, replied. "I own I should have liked to spend six months in a snug little craft going up the La Plata and Parana, especially the latter. The La Plata runs through a comparatively flat and—I will not say unfertile country, because it is fertile enough, but—a country deficient in trees, and offering but small attraction to a botanist; but the Parana flows north. Paraguay is a country but little visited by Europeans, and ought to be well worth investigation; but, as you say, I am glad enough to be out of this shallow water. In a short time we shall be looking out our wraps again. We shall want our warmest things for doubling Cape Horn, or rather what is called doubling Cape Horn, because in point of fact we do not double it at all."

"Do you mean we do not go round it?" Marion asked in surprise.

"We may, and we may not, Miss Renshaw. It will depend upon the weather, I suppose; but most vessels now go through the Straits which separate Cape Horn itself from Tierra del Fuego."

"Those are the Straits of Magellan, are they not?"

"Oh, no!" Mr. Atherton replied. "The Straits of Magellan lie still further to the north, and separate Tierra del Fuego from the mainland. I wish that we were going through them, for I believe the scenery is magnificent."

"But if they lie further north that must surely be our shortest way, so why should we not go through them?"

"If we were in a steamer we might do so, Miss Renshaw; but the channels are so narrow and intricate, and the tides and currents run with such violence, that sailing-vessels hardly ever attempt the passage. The straits we shall go through lie between Tierra del Fuego and the group of islands of which the Horn is the most southerly."

"Is the country inhabited?"

"Yes, by races of the most debased savages, with whom, I can assure you, I have no desire whatever to make any personal acquaintance."

"Not even to collect botanical specimens, Mr. Atherton?" the girl asked, smiling.

"Not even for that purpose, Miss Renshaw. I will do a good deal in pursuance of my favourite hobby, but I draw the line at the savages of Tierra del Fuego. Very few white men have ever fallen into their hands and lived to tell the tale, and certainly I should have no chance whatever."

"Why would you have less chance than other people, Mr. Atherton?"

"My attractions would be irresistible," Mr. Atherton replied gravely. "I should furnish meat for a whole tribe."

"How horrible!" Marion exclaimed. "What! are they cannibals?"

"Very much so indeed; and one can hardly blame them, for it is the only chance they have of getting flesh. Their existence is one long struggle with famine and cold. They are not hunters, and are but poor fishermen. I firmly believe that if I were in their place I should be a cannibal myself."

"How can you say such things?" Marion asked indignantly. "I never know whether you are in earnest, Mr. Atherton. I am sure you would never be a cannibal."

"There is no saying what one might be if one were driven to it," he replied placidly. "Anyhow, I trust that I shall never be driven to it. In my various journeyings and adventures I am happy to say that I have never been forced to experience a prolonged fast, and it is one of the things I have no inclination to try. This weather is perfection, is it not?" he went on, changing the subject. "The Flying Scud is making capital way. I only hope it may last. It is sad to think that we shall soon exchange these balmy breezes for a biting wind. We are just saying, Wilfrid," he went on as the lad strolled up to them, "that you will soon have to lay aside your white flannels and put on a greatcoat and muffler."

"I shall not be sorry," Wilfrid replied. "After a month of hot weather one wants bracing up a bit, and I always enjoy cold."

"Then you should have gone out and settled in Iceland instead of New Zealand."

"I should not have minded that, Mr. Atherton. There is splendid fishing, I believe, and sealing, and all that sort of thing. But I do not suppose the others would have liked it. I am sure father would not. He cannot bear cold, and his study at home used always to be kept up at almost the temperature of an oven all the winter. I should think New Zealand would exactly suit him."

Before the sun set they had the satisfaction of sailing out of the muddy water of the La Plata, and of being once more in the bright blue sea. For the next week the Flying Scud sailed merrily southward without adventure. The air grew sensibly cooler each day, and the light garments of the tropics were already exchanged for warmer covering.

"Do you always get this sort of weather down here, captain?" Mrs. Renshaw asked.

"Not always, Mrs. Renshaw. The weather is generally fine, I admit, but occasionally short but very violent gales sweep down from off the land. They are known as pamperos; because, I suppose, they come from the pampas. They are very dangerous from the extreme suddenness with which they sweep down. If they are seen coming, and the vessel can be stripped of her canvas in time, there is little danger to be apprehended, for they are as short as they are violent."

"We have been wonderfully fortunate altogether so far," Mrs. Renshaw said. "We have not had a single gale since we left England. I trust that our good luck will continue to the end."

"I hope so too," the captain said. "I grant that a spell of such weather as we have been favoured with is apt to become a little monotonous, and I generally find my passengers have a tendency after a time to become snappish and quarrelsome from sheer want of anything to occupy their minds. Still I would very much rather put up with that than with the chances of a storm."

"People must be very foolish to get out of temper because everything is going on well," Mrs. Renshaw said. "I am sure I find it perfectly delightful sailing on as we do."

"Then you see, madam, you are an indefatigable worker. I never see your hands idle; but to people who do not work, a long voyage of unbroken weather must, I can very well understand, be monotonous. Of course with us who have duties to perform it is different. I have often heard passengers wish for what they call a good gale, but I have never heard a sailor who has once experienced one express such a wish. However staunch the ship, a great gale is a most anxious time for all concerned in the navigation of a vessel. It is, too, a time of unremitting hardship. There is but little sleep to be had; all hands are constantly on deck, and are continually wet to the skin. Great seas sweep over a ship, and each man has literally his life in his hand, for he may at any moment be torn from his hold and washed overboard, or have his limbs broken by some spar or hen-coop or other object swept along by the sea. It always makes me angry when I hear a passenger express a wish for a gale, in thoughtless ignorance of what he is desiring. If a storm comes we must face it like men; and in a good ship like the Flying Scud, well trimmed and not overladen, and with plenty of sea-room, we may feel pretty confident as to the result; but that is a very different thing from wishing to have one."

By the time they were a fortnight out from Buenos Ayres, Mr. Atherton and James Allen were both off the sick-list; indeed the latter had been but a week in the doctor's hands. The adventure had bound the little party more closely together than before. The Allens had quite settled that when their friends once established themselves on a holding, they would, if possible, take one up in the neighbourhood; and they and the young Renshaws often regretted that Mr. Atherton was only a bird of passage, and had no intention of fixing himself permanently in the colony. The air had grown very much colder of late, and the light clothes they had worn in the tropics had already been discarded, and in the evening all were glad to put on warm wraps when they came on deck.

"I think," the captain said as Mr. Renshaw came up for his customary walk before breakfast, "we are going to have a change. The glass has fallen a good deal, and I did not like the look of the sun when it rose this morning."

"It looks to me very much as usual," Mr. Renshaw replied, shading his eyes and looking at the sun, "except perhaps that it is not quite so bright."

"Not so bright by a good deal," the captain said. "There is a change in the colour of the sky—it is not so blue. The wind has fallen too, and I fancy by twelve o'clock there will be a calm. Of course we cannot be surprised if we do have a change. We have had a splendid spell of weather, and we are getting into stormy latitudes now."

When the passengers went up after breakfast they found that the Flying Scud was scarcely moving through the water. The sails hung idly against the masts, and the yards creaked as the vessel rose and fell slightly on an almost invisible swell.

"This would be a good opportunity," the captain said cheerfully, "to get down our light spars; the snugger we are the better for rounding the Horn. Mr. Ryan, send all hands aloft, and send down all spars over the topmast."

The crew swarmed up the rigging, and in two hours the Flying Scud was stripped of the upper yards and lofty spars.

"She looks very ugly," Marion Renshaw said. "Do you not think so, Mary?"

"Hideous," Mary Mitford agreed.

"She is in fighting trim now," Mr. Atherton said.

"Yes, but who are we going to fight?" Marion asked.

"We are going to have a skirmish with the weather, I fancy, Miss Renshaw. I don't say we are going to have a storm," he went on as the girls looked anxiously up at the sky, "but you can see for yourselves that there is a change since yesterday. The wind has dropped and the sky is dull and hazy, the sea looks sullen, the bright little waves we were accustomed to are all gone, and as you see by the motion of the vessel there is an underground swell, though we can scarcely notice it on the water."

"Which way do you think the wind will come from, Mr. Atherton?" Mary Mitford asked.

"I fancy it will come from the west, or perhaps north-west. Look at those light streaks of cloud high up in the air; they are travelling to the southeast."

"Look how fast they are going," Mary Mitford said as she looked up, "and we have not a breath of wind here."

"We shall have it soon," Mr. Atherton said. "You see that dark line on the water coming up from the west. I am glad to see it. It is very much better to have the wind freshen up gradually to a gale than to lie becalmed until it strikes you suddenly."

The girls stood at the poop-rail watching the sailors engaged in putting lashings on to every movable object on deck. In ten minutes the dark line came up to them, and the Flying Scud began to move through the water. The courses were brailed up and stowed. The wind rapidly increased in strength, and the captain presently requested the passengers to go below, or at any rate to give up their seats.

"There is nothing like having the deck cleared," he said. "If it comes on to blow a bit and there is any movement, the chairs would be charging about from side to side, and will not only break themselves up, but perhaps break someone's leg."

Four sailors folded up the chairs, piled them together, and passing cords over them lashed them to two ring-bolts.

"Now, Mr. Ryan, we will get the topsails reefed at once. There is a heavy bank there to windward, and we had best get everything as snug as possible before that comes up to us."

The dark bank of mist rose rapidly, and the sailors had but just reached the deck after closely reefing the topsails before it was close upon them.

"Now, ladies, please go below," the captain said sharply. "There is rain as well as wind in the clouds; it will come down in bucketfuls when it does come."

This had the desired effect of sending most of the male passengers down as well as the ladies. A few remained near the companion ready to make a dive below when the squall struck them. Suddenly the wind ceased and the topsails flapped against the masts. There was a confused roaring sound astern, and a broad white line came along at race-horse speed towards the vessel.

"Get below, lads," Mr. Atherton said as he led the way, "or you will be drenched in a moment."

They had but just reached the cabin when there was a deafening roar overhead, and almost at the same moment the vessel started as if struck by a heavy blow.

"Rain and wind together!" Mr. Atherton shouted in reply to the chorus of questions from those below. "Now, all you have got to do is to make yourselves comfortable, for there will be no going up again for some time."

For five minutes the tremendous downpour continued, and then ceased as suddenly as it commenced. The wind had dropped too; and the silence after the uproar was startling. It lasted but a few seconds; then the wind again struck the ship with even greater force than before, although, as she had not lost her way, the blow was less felt by those below. In five minutes the captain came below with his oil-skin coat and sou'-wester streaming with wet.

"I have just looked down to tell you," he said cheerfully, "that everything is going on well. The first burst of these gales is always the critical point, and we can congratulate ourselves that we have got through it without losing a spar or sail—thanks to our having had sufficient warning to get all snug, and to the gale striking us gradually. I am afraid you won't have a very comfortable time of it for the next day or two; but there is nothing to be at all uneasy about. The gale is off the land, and we have sea-room enough for anything. Now we have got rid of half our cargo the ship is in her very best trim, and though we may get her decks washed a bit by and by, she will be none the worse for that."

So saying he again went up on deck. For the next three days the gale blew with fury. There were no regular meals taken below, for the vessel rolled so tremendously that nothing would have remained on the plates and dishes; and the passengers were forced to content themselves with biscuit, with an occasional cup of coffee or basin of soup that the cook managed to warm up for them. The ladies for the most part kept their cabins, as did many of the male passengers, and the absence of regular meals was the less felt as the majority were suffering from sea-sickness. Wilfrid was occasionally ill, but managed to keep up, and from time to time went on deck for a few minutes, while Marion spent most of her time on a seat at the top of the companion, looking out on the sea.

It was a magnificent sight. Tremendous waves were following the ship, each as it approached lifting her stern high in the air and driving her along at a speed that seemed terrific, then passing on and leaving her to sink down into the valley behind it. The air was thick with flying spray torn from the crest of the waves. At first it seemed as if each sea that came up behind the vessel would break over her stern and drive her head-foremost down; but as wave passed after wave without damage the sense of anxiety passed off, and Marion was able to enjoy the grandeur of the sea. Wilfrid, Mr. Atherton, and the Allens often came in to sit with her, and to take shelter for a time from the fury of the wind. But talking was almost impossible; the roar of the wind in the rigging, the noise of the waves as they struck the ship, and the confused sound of the battle of the elements being too great to allow a voice to be heard, except when raised almost to shouting point.

But Marion had no inclination for talking. Snugly as Mr. Atherton had wedged her in with pillows and cushions, it was as much as she could do to retain her seat, as the vessel rolled till the lower yards almost touched the water, and she was too absorbed in the wild grandeur of the scene to want companionship.

"The captain says the glass is beginning to rise," Mr. Atherton said as he met her the fourth morning of the gale; "and that he thinks the worst is over."

"I shall be glad for the sake of the others," Marion replied, "for the sea to go down. Father and mother are both quite worn out; for it is almost impossible for them to sleep, as they might be thrown out of their berths if they did not hold on. For myself, I am in no hurry for the gale to be over, it is so magnificently grand. Don't you think so, Mr. Atherton?"

"It is grand, lassie, no doubt," Mr. Atherton said; "but I have rather a weakness for dry clothes and comfortable meals—to say nothing of being able to walk or sit perpendicularly, and not being obliged constantly to hold on for bare life. This morning I feel that under happier circumstances I could enjoy a steak, an Irish stew, and a couple of eggs, but a biscuit and a cup of coffee are all I can hope for."

"I believe you enjoy it as much as I do, Mr. Atherton," the girl said indignantly; "else why do you stay upon deck all the time in spite of the wind and spray?"

"Well, you see, Miss Renshaw, you ladies have an objection to my smoking my pipe below; and besides, what with the groans and moans from the cabins, and the clatter of the swinging trays, and the noise of the waves, and one thing and another, there is little to tempt me to stay below. But really I shall be very glad when it is over. The ship has been doing splendidly; and as the wind has blown from the same quarter the whole time, the sea though very high is regular, and everything is going on well. Still a gale is a gale, and you can never answer for the vagaries of the wind. If it were to veer round to another quarter, for instance, you would in a few hours get a broken sea here that would astonish you, and would try all the qualities of the Flying Scud. Then again we have been running south with tremendous speed for the last three days, and if it were to go on for a few days longer we might find ourselves down among the ice. Therefore, I say, the sooner the gale is over the better I shall be pleased."

Towards evening there was a sensible abatement in the force of the wind, and the following morning the gale had so far abated that the captain prepared to haul his course for the west.

"We have been running south at the rate of fully three hundred miles a day," he said, "and are now very far down. The moment this warm wind drops and we get it from the south you will find that you will need every wrap you have to keep you warm. If the gale had lasted I had made up my mind to try to get her head to it, and to lie to. We are a great deal too close to the region of ice to be pleasant."

The change in the course of the vessel was by no means appreciated by the passengers, for the motion was very much rougher and more unpleasant than that to which they had now become accustomed. However, by the following morning the wind had died away to a moderate breeze, and the sea had very sensibly abated. The topsails were shaken out of their reefs; and although the motion was still violent most of the passengers emerged from their cabins and came on deck to enjoy the sun, which was now streaming brightly through the broken clouds. The captain was in high glee; the ship had weathered the gale without the slightest damage. Not a rope had parted, not a sail been blown away, and the result fully justified the confidence he felt in his ship and her gear.

"It is a comfort," he remarked, "to sail under liberal owners. Now, my people insist on having their ships as well found as possible, and if I condemn spars, sails, ropes, or stays, they are replaced without a question. And it is the cheapest policy in the long run. There is nothing so costly as stinginess on board a ship. The giving way of a stay may mean the loss of the mast and all its gear, and that may mean the loss of a ship. The blowing away of a sail at a critical moment may mean certain disaster; and yet there are many owners who grudge a fathom of new rope or a bolt of canvas, and who will risk the safety of their vessels for the petty economy of a few pounds."

The next day the wind had dropped entirely. The topgallant masts were sent up with their yards and sails, and by dinner-time the Flying Scud looked more like herself. As soon as the wind lulled all on board were conscious of a sudden fall of temperature. Bundles of wraps were undone and greatcoats and cloaks got out, and although the sun was still shining brightly the poop of the Flying Scud soon presented a wintry appearance. There was no sitting about now. Even the ladies had abandoned their usual work, and by the sharp walking up and down on deck it was evident that even the warm wraps were insufficient in themselves, and that brisk exercise was necessary to keep up the circulation.

"Well, what do you think of this, Mrs. Renshaw?" Mr. Atherton asked.

"I like it," she said decidedly; "but it is certainly a wonderfully sudden change from summer to winter. My husband does not like it at all. We never agreed on the subject of temperature. He liked what I call a close study, while I enjoy a sharp walk well wrapped up on a winter's day."

"I agree with you," Mr. Atherton said. "I can bear any amount of cold, but heat completely knocks me up. But then, you see, the cold never has a chance of penetrating to my bones."

"Which course shall we take now, do you suppose? South of Cape Horn or through the Straits?"

"It will depend upon the winds we meet with, I imagine," Mr. Atherton replied. "If the wind continues from the south, I should say the captain would keep well south of the Horn; but if it heads us from the west at all, we may have to go through the Straits, which, personally, I own that I should prefer. It has gone round nearly a point since I came on deck this morning. If it goes round a bit more we certainly shall not be able to lay our course round the Horn, for I do not think we are far to the south of it now."

By evening the wind had hauled farther to the west, and the ship's head pointed more to the north than it had done in the morning. The passengers enjoyed the change, for the temperature had risen rapidly, and many of the warm wraps that had been got up were laid aside. At twelve o'clock the captain had taken observations, and found that the ship's position was nearly due south of the Falkland Isles.

"We had a narrow squeak of it, Mr. Ryan," he said to the first-mate. "All the time we were running before that gale I had that group of islands on my mind."

"So had I, sir," the mate replied. "I was praying all the time that the wind would keep a bit to the west of north, for I knew that when it began our position was, as near as may be, due north of them. I guessed what you were thinking of when you told the man at the wheel to edge away to the east as much as he dared, though that was mighty little."

"By my reckoning," the captain said, "we could not have passed more than thirty miles to the east of them. We have made about eighty miles of westing since we got on our course, and we are now just on the longitude of the westermost point of the islands. They are about a hundred miles to the north of us."

The wind continued from the same quarter, and on taking his observation on the following day the captain announced that if there were no change he reckoned upon just making the mouth of the Straits between Tierra del Fuego and the islands. On going on deck two mornings later land was seen on the port bow.

"There is Cape Horn," the captain said; "that lofty peak covered with snow. The island nearest to us is Herschel Island. The large island not far from the Horn is Wollaston Island. As you see, there are several others. It is not the sort of place one would like to come down upon in a gale, and if I had had my choice I would rather have gone a hundred miles south of the Horn. But the wind would not allow us to lie that course, and after the gale we had the other day we have a right to reckon upon finer weather, and in light winds it might have taken us another two or three days beating round."

"The wind is very light now," Mr. Renshaw remarked.

"Yes, and I am afraid it will be lighter still presently," the captain said.

The vessel made but slow way, and in the afternoon the wind dropped altogether. The Flying Scud was now two or three miles from the coast of Tierra del Fuego, and the passengers examined the inhospitable-looking coast through their glasses. At one or two points light wreaths of smoke were seen curling up, telling of encampments of the natives.

"I think, Mr. Ryan," the captain said, "I will take her in and anchor in one of the bays This breath of air might be enough to move her through the water if she were going free, but it is nearly dead ahead of us now. I do not like the idea of drifting all night along this coast. Besides, we may be able to get some fish from the natives, which will be a change for the passengers."

The vessel's head was turned towards the shore, and now that the light air was well on the beam it sufficed to enable the vessel to steal through the water at the rate of about a knot an hour. At about four o'clock the anchor was dropped in a bay at a distance of half a mile from land, the sails were furled, and the passengers watched the shores in hopes that some native craft might make its appearance; but there was no sign of life.

"Either the natives have no fish to sell, or rather exchange," the captain said, "for, of course, money is of no use to them, or they are afraid of us. Maybe they have been massacring some shipwrecked crew, and believe we are a ship-of-war come down to punish them. At any rate, they seem determined not to show."

The next morning the sea was as smooth as glass, and there was not a breath of air.

"Would you let us have a boat, captain?" Mr. Atherton asked. "It will make a pleasant change, and perhaps some of the natives might come off and sell us fish, as they would not be afraid of us as they might be of the ship."

"Yes, if you like to make up a party, Mr. Atherton, you can have a boat; but you must not land. The natives are very treacherous, and it would not be safe to set foot on shore. Mr. Ryan, will you get the cutter into the water after breakfast? You had better take with you two or three muskets. I do not think there is any fear of an attack, and besides you could out-row the native craft, still it is always as well to be prepared."

Mr. Atherton soon made up his party. Wilfrid and the two Allens were delighted at the offer, and Marion and the Miss Mitfords also petitioned to be allowed to go, although Mr. Atherton had not intended to take ladies with him. Two other young men named Hardy and Wilson were also invited to join, and this made up the complement that the cutter could carry in comfort. The crew consisted of six sailors at the oars, and Mr. Ryan himself took the helm.

"You had better wrap up well," Mr. Atherton said to the girls, "for you will find it cold sitting in a boat. The thermometer must be down near freezing-point."

Mr. Atherton was the last to take his seat, and he brought with him his rifle.

"Why, what are you going to shoot, Mr. Atherton?" Marion asked.

"I do not know that I am going to shoot anything," he replied; "but it is always well to be prepared. You see I have made preparations in other ways," he added as the steward handed him down a large basket, which he placed in the stern-sheets.

"But we are only going for an hour or two, Mr. Atherton," Wilfrid remarked. "We cannot want anything to eat when we have only just finished breakfast."

"I do not think it at all likely we shall want to open the hamper, Wilfrid; but you see it is always best to be prepared. The weather looks perfectly settled, but, like the natives of these parts, it is treacherous. As I proposed this expedition I feel a sort of responsibility, and have therefore, you see, taken precautions against every contingency."

"I do not think there is any chance of a change," Mr. Ryan said. "It looks as if the calm might last for a week. Still, one can never be wrong in preparing for the worst. Besides, this cold weather gives one a wonderful appetite, and a drop of the cratur never comes amiss."

By this time the boat was fairly away from the ship, and the sailors, who like the passengers regarded the expedition as a pleasant change, stretched out to their oars. The mate steered for the headland to the west, and after passing it kept the boat at a distance of a few hundred yards from the shore.

"Is there any current here, Mr. Ryan?" Wilfrid asked as he watched the rocks and low stunted trees.

"Very little," the mate replied. "Sometimes it runs very strongly here, but at present it is not much to speak of. I do not think it was running more than a quarter of a mile an hour past the ship, but no doubt there is a good deal more farther out."

To the disappointment of those on board there were no signs of natives.

"It will be very tiresome if they do not come out," Marion said. "I want to see a real cannibal."

"I do not so much care about the cannibals, Miss Renshaw, but I want to see their fish. I have not tasted a really decent fish since I left England; but in these cold waters they ought to be as good as they are at home. I believe the natives catch them by spearing them by torch-light, and in that case they ought to be good-sized fellows." The men after the first start had dropped into a long, steady stroke, and as the boat glided along past bay and headland no one paid any attention to time, until the mate, looking at his watch, said:

"Faith, we have been gone an hour and a half; I clean forgot all about time. I think we had better be turning. It will be dinner-time before we reach the ship as it is." The boat's head was turned. "I think," the mate went on, "we may as well steer from headland to headland, instead of keeping round the bays. It will save a good bit of distance, and the natives evidently do not mean to show themselves."

"They are very provoking," Miss Mitford said. "I can see smoke among the trees over there, and I have no doubt that they are watching us although we cannot see them."

"You ought to have waved your handkerchief as we came along, Miss Mitford," James Allen remarked; "or to have stood up and shown yourselves. They would no doubt have come off then and offered presents in token of admiration."

The girls laughed. "I do not suppose they would appreciate our charms," Miss Mitford said. "They are not in their line, you see."

"That they certainly are not, Miss Mitford," the mate laughed. "I saw some of them the last time I came through here, and hideous-looking creatures they are, and wear no clothes to speak of."

So laughing and chatting with their eyes fixed on the shore the party never looked seaward, until a sudden exclamation from the mate called their attention to that direction.

"Be Jabers!" he exclaimed, "here is a sea-fog rolling down on us from the south!"

They looked and saw what seemed like a wall of white smoke rolling along the water towards them. At this moment the boat was about half-way between two headlands, which were a mile and a half apart, and the shore abreast of it was three-quarters of a mile distant. The sun was shining brightly upon the rolling mist, and the girls uttered an exclamation of admiration.

"How fast it comes!" Marion said. "Why, it will be here directly!"

The mate put the tiller a-starboard. "Row, men!" he said in a sharp voice; for they had for a moment ceased to pull.

"Have you a compass?" Mr. Atherton asked in low tones.

The mate shook his head. "I am no better than an idiot to have come without one," he said. "But who could have dreamt we should want it?"

A minute later a light wreath of mist crossed the boat, and almost immediately the great fog-bank rolled over it. An exclamation broke from several of those on board. So sudden was the change of temperature that it seemed as if an icy hand had been laid upon them.

"It is fortunate that we are not far from shore," Mr. Atherton said to the mate. "There is nothing for it but to coast along close in."

"That is the only thing to do," Mr. Ryan replied. "But it will be an awkward business; for, as we noticed when we came along, the shore is in many places studded with rocks. However, we must risk that, and by going on slowly and carefully we may get off with slight damage even if we hit one. It is not as if the water was rough."

The fog was so thick that they could scarcely see the ends of the oar-blades.

"How are we to find the ship?" Marion asked.

"There will be no difficulty about that, Miss Renshaw. They will be sure to be firing guns as signals for us. There!" he broke off as the boom of a cannon came across the water. "Besides, with the land on our right hand and this icy breeze from the south, we cannot go far out of our way."

"Row easy, men," the mate commanded. "We cannot be far from shore now, and we must begin to look out sharp for rocks. Row light and aisy, and do not make more noise with your oars than you can help. The natives may be listening for us; and we do not want a shower of spears in the boat. Mr. Allen, will you go forward into the bows, and keep a sharp look-out for rocks?"

James Allen went forward, and two or three minutes later cried, "Easy all! Hold her up!" Quickly as the order was obeyed the boat's stem grated on the shore before her way was lost.

"Back her off, lads!" the mate cried. As the boat glided off into deep water again there was a yell from the shore, and a dozen spears struck the water round her. Fortunately none of them struck her, for she was invisible to the natives, who had been guided to the spot by the sound of the oars.

"Not an encouraging reception," Mr. Atherton remarked quietly. "Well, ladies, you have not seen the cannibals as yet, but you have heard them. I think the best plan, Mr. Ryan, will be to tear up one of these rugs and muffle the oars."

"I think we may as well do so," the mate replied "However, their sharp ears are sure to hear us if we are close inshore, and we dare not go far out or we might lose our bearings altogether."

"I do not think we can do that. In the first place, you see, there is the breeze that brought down the fog to guide us, and in the second the guns of the ship. We cannot go far wrong with them; and I should say that when we once get out as far as we believe the headland to lie, the best thing will be to steer direct for the ship. The danger in that way would certainly be far less than it is from rocks and savages if we keep near the shore."

"I think you are right. We will row straight out against the wind for a quarter of an hour, that will take us clear of the headland, and we will then shape our course direct for the guns."

CHAPTER VI.

PUTTING IN THE REFIT.

The boat rowed steadily in the course that was believed would take them straight out to sea, the mate listening attentively for the sound of the distant guns. The reports came up every two or three minutes, their sound muffled by the fog. "Sure it's mighty difficult to tell where the sound comes from, but I think it is well over there on our beam. Do not you think so?" the mate asked Mr. Atherton.

"I think so; yes, I feel sure that we are rowing nearly due south. Even without the sound of the guns I should feel sure that we cannot at present be far out of that course. I noticed that as we came along you hardly had to use any helm, and that the strength on both sides was very evenly balanced. So that starting out as we did from the shore, we must be travelling pretty straight. Of course in the long run we should be sure to sweep round one way or the other and lose our bearings altogether were it not for the guns. Wilfrid, we will appoint you time-keeper."

"What am I to keep time of, Mr. Atherton?"

"You are to keep time of the guns. I think they are firing about every three minutes, but you had better time the first two or three. If you find them three minutes apart, it will be your duty a quarter of a minute before the gun is due to say in a loud voice 'Stop,' then all conversation is to cease till we hear the report. Unless we are all silent and listening, it is very difficult to judge the exact direction from which the sound comes, and it is important to keep as straight a line as we can. There is the gun now, begin to count."

A DOZEN SPEARS STRUCK THE WATER ROUND HER

Page 103

"I think we can turn our head in that direction now," the mate said. "It is just twenty minutes since we left the shore, and we ought to be fully a mile out beyond the headland."

"I quite agree with you. We have certainly a clear course now to the ship if we do not make any blunder in keeping it."

The mate put the tiller a-starboard.

"I wonder how long I am to keep it over?" he said. "It is a queer sensation steering without having an idea which way you are going."

"The next gun will tell us whether we have gone too far round or not far enough," Mr. Atherton observed.

"Well, we will try that," the mate said after a short pause. "I should think we ought to have made half a turn now."

"Stop!" Wilfrid exclaimed a minute later. "Easy rowing, lads, and listen for the gun."

The mate ordered silence in the boat. Half a minute later the report of the gun was again heard. There was a general exclamation of surprise, for instead of coming, as they expected, from a point somewhere ahead, it seemed to them all that the sound was almost astern of them.

"Now, who would have thought that?" the mate said. "I had no idea she had gone round so far. Well, we must try again, and go to work more gently this time. Row on, men!"

The tiller was put slightly a-port, and the boat continued her way. The talk that had gone on among the passengers was now hushed. Mr. Atherton had been chatting gaily with the girls from the time the fog came on, and except at the moment when they went ashore and were attacked by the natives, no uneasiness had been felt, for the sound of the guns had seemed to all an assurance that there could be no difficulty in rejoining the ship. The discovery that for a moment they had been actually going away from the ship had, for the first time since they rowed away from the shore, caused a feeling of real uneasiness, and when Wilfrid again gave notice that the report would soon be heard, all listened intently, and there was a general exclamation of satisfaction when the sound was heard nearly ahead.

"We have got it now," the mate said. "Row on, lads; a long steady stroke and we shall be in before dinner is cold yet."

The conversation now recommenced.

"Is it any use my stopping here any longer?" Jim Allen cried from the bow; "because if not I will come aft to you. It is a good deal warmer sitting together than it is out here by myself."

"Yes, you may as well come aft," the mate replied. "As long as we keep the guns ahead we know that we are clear of rocks. It certainly has come on bitterly cold." There was a general chorus of assent.

"I should think it would be a good thing, Ryan, to get the sail aft and unlash it from the gaff and put it over our legs, it will make a lot of difference in the warmth."

"I think that that is a very good idea," the mate assented. "Lay in your oar for a minute, Johnson, and get that sail aft."

The sail was passed aft, unlashed from the yard, and spread out, adding considerably to the comfort of all those sitting astern; and now that the ship's guns were booming ahead, and they had become accustomed to the thick curtain of cloud hanging round them, the feeling of uneasiness that the girls had felt was entirely dissipated, and Mr. Atherton had no longer any occasion to use his best efforts to keep up their spirits. All laughed and chatted over their adventure, which, as they said, far exceeded in interest anything they had been promised when they started from the ship. The only drawback, as they all agreed, was the cold, which was indeed really severe.

"We do not seem to come up to the guns as we ought to," Mr. Atherton said to the mate after the boat had been rowing for some time.

"That is just what I was thinking," Mr. Ryan replied. "I fancy we must have got a strong current out here against us."

"I expect we have. Ryan, I tell you what. The men have been rowing for some hours now since they left the ship, I think it would be a good thing if our youngsters were to relieve some of them for a spell. What do you say, lads?"

Wilfrid, the Allens, Hardy, and Wilson all exclaimed that they should be delighted to take a turn, as it would warm their blood. "We shall be able to give them all a spell," Mr. Atherton said, "for there are just six of us."

"I am certainly not going to let you pull, and you scarcely out of the doctor's hand," the mate said bluntly. "Why, you must be mad to think of such a thing! Here, do you take the tiller and I will row the stroke-oar. Easy all, lads; put on your jackets. Four of you come aft, and the other two go into the bows."

"I wish we could row," Marion said regretfully, as the new crew bent to their oars. "I have done a lot of rowing at home, Mr. Atherton, and they say I row very fairly."

"I am afraid you would not be of much assistance here, young lady," Mr. Atherton said. "It's one thing to work a light well-balanced oar such as you use in a gig up the river, but it is a very different one to tug away at one of these heavy oars in a sea-going boat like this with ten sitters in her. We shall want all our strength to get back, you may be sure. There must be a strong current against us, and there is little chance of our being back, as we hoped, by dinner-time."

After the men had had half an hour's rest Mr. Ryan told them to take their seats and double bank the oars.

"We shall travel all the faster," he said to Mr. Atherton, "and now that they have got their wind again it is far better that they should be rowing than sitting still. The guns are a good deal nearer now. I do not think that the ship can be more than a mile or a mile and a half away."

"I do not suppose she is," Mr. Atherton replied. "I think I will fire off my rifle two or three times. They ought to be able to hear it now, and it will relieve their minds."

He discharged his rifle four or five times, and they fancied that they heard shots in return.

"Hullo!" Mr. Atherton exclaimed suddenly. "Easy all! Hold her up hard all!" Although the order was entirely unexpected it was given so sharply that it was instantly obeyed, and the boat was brought to a stand-still before she had advanced another length. Then the rowers looked round to see what had been the occasion of the sudden order. In front of them, scarce ten feet away, towered up a dark mass of rock. They could only see it ahead of the boat, and how high it was or how far it extended on either side they knew not.

"Why, what is this?" the mate said in astonishment. "We did not notice any islands as we came along. It has been a narrow escape, for at the rate at which we were going through the water we should have stove in our bow had we run on it."

"We have had a narrower escape than we deserve," Mr. Atherton said. "I cannot think how we can have been so foolish."

"What do you mean?" the mate asked.

"Why we have been steering straight for the guns, have we not?"

"Of course we have."

"Well, we ought not to have done so. If the ship had been lying well out from the land it would have been all right; but she is lying in a deep bay, and of course a straight course to her from the point we started from would take us just where we are, that is ashore, on the other side of the headland."

"Of course it would. We ought to have kept well to seaward of the guns till they bore right on our beam, and then headed in to her. Well, fortunately no harm has been done, but we have had a mighty narrow escape. If the fog had been as thick as it was when it first came down upon us we should have gone right into it before we saw it."

The boat was turned and rowed out to sea for some distance, then they again headed her in the direction in which they wished to go, but keeping the guns well in shore of them until they judged by the sound that they were nearly opposite to her, then they rowed straight towards her. The sound of their oars was heard, and a loud hail informed them of the exact position of the ship, and two or three minutes later a dark image loomed up in front of the boat.

"All well, Mr. Ryan?" the captain shouted.

"All well, sir."

"You have given us a great fright," the captain went on. "We expected you back at least two hours ago, thinking of course you would have returned when the fog set in, even if you had not done so before."

"We had turned, sir, before the fog rolled in; but what with losing our way, and the difficulty of keeping our course in the fog, and the fact that there is, we think, a strong current that was running against us further out, we have been a long time coming back. So, you see, we have double banked all the oars."

By this time they were lying by the gangway. It was found that the girls in spite of their wraps were so stiff with the cold that they had to be assisted up the gangway to the deck. Exercise warmed the blood of the rest, and they were soon on deck. Mr. Atherton, who alone of the men had not been rowing, had some little difficulty in getting up, although, as he said, he had no more right to feel cold than a walrus, protected as he was by nature.

There had been much anxiety on board until the shots fired by Mr. Atherton were heard. The captain had ordered plenty of hot soup to be got ready, and the girls soon felt in a comfortable glow. Mr. Atherton gave a comical account of their adventures, but he did not conceal the fact that at one time their position had been really a perilous one, and that if they had not been pretty vigilant they might have fallen into the hands of the natives.

"Well, all is well that ends well," Mr. Renshaw said, "but I think we will have no more boat excursions as long as we are in the neighbourhood of cannibals. Of course no one could have foreseen the fog coming on so suddenly, but you have evidently all had a narrow escape."

Those who had taken part in the adventure, however, were highly pleased with their share in it, and agreed that although perhaps at the time it was unpleasant it was very exciting, and was an incident that they should never forget all their lives.

The fog continued for three days, at the end of which time an easterly wind set in and the air cleared, and the Flying Scud weighed her anchor and proceeded on her voyage. Ten days later a gale set in from the south. The cold was intense, and the spray as it flew from her bows cased her fore-rigging and deck with ice. The wind increased hourly in fury, and the captain decided to run before it. "We have plenty of sea-room," he said, "and shall get out of this bitter cold as we get further north. It will not last long, I daresay."

Day after day, however, the gale continued, seeming to increase rather than diminish in force. On the morning of the sixth day after it had begun the passengers heard a tremendous crash on deck. Wilfrid ran up the companion and looked out, and reported that the mainmast and the fore-top-mast had gone overboard. Fortunately the gust that had done this damage proved to be the climax of the gale; by nightfall its force had sensibly abated, and two days later it fell to a calm, and all hands set to work to repair damages.

"I have no spar that will be of any use for a mainmast," the captain said. "We must content ourselves with getting up a fore-top-mast and then under what sail we can set upon that and the mizzen make for one of the islands and try to get a good-sized spar for the mainmast. I reckon that we are not more than two hundred and fifty miles from the Austral Group. We have been blown nearly twenty degrees north."

Three days later land was seen ahead, and this the captain, after taking an observation, declared to be Malayta, one of the largest islands of the group.

"I would rather have gone on under this reduced sail," he said to Mr. Atherton, in whom he had great confidence, "if we had been sure of fine weather; but that we cannot reckon upon at this time of year, and I should not like to be caught in another gale in this crippled state so near the islands. So of the two evils I consider it the least to go in and try and get a spar that will do for our purpose."

"What is the evil of going in?" Mr. Atherton asked.

"The natives," the captain replied shortly. "They are a treacherous lot in all these islands; but the Australs bear a particularly bad reputation, and we shall have to be very careful in our dealings with them."

"Well, as we are forewarned they are not likely to take us by surprise, captain; and as with the crew and passengers we can muster a pretty strong force, we ought to be able to beat off any open attack."

"Yes, I think we could do that," the captain agreed. "If I did not think so I would not put in, but would take the chance of our making our way, crippled as we are, to New Zealand. The thing we shall have to guard against is a sudden and treacherous onslaught; the crews of many ships have been massacred owing to carelessness and over-confidence. However, we will not be caught napping, and I therefore hope to get off unscathed."

As they neared the land the passengers were delighted with the aspect of the shore. Groves of trees came down to the very edge of the water; in the interior the land was high, but was covered to the summit of the hills with foliage. As they approached, and the captain gave orders to prepare for anchoring, they could see a number of natives gathered on the narrow strip of sands close to the water. They were waving boughs of trees in token of friendship, and were, as far as could be seen by the aid of a telescope, unarmed.

"They look friendly, mother," Marion said after watching them through the glass. "Won't it be nice to land and take a walk among those feathery-looking trees. There will be no fear of fogs or cold here, the temperature is quite perfect."

"You will not land, I can assure you, young lady," the captain, who was passing by and overheard her, said. "Those fellows look friendly enough, I agree, but there are no more treacherous rascals among the islanders of the Pacific. I shall give them as wide a berth as I can, and get them if possible to cut a spar and tow it out to us, instead of sending a party on shore to fetch it. No one will leave this ship with my permission, unless it be a boat's party armed to the teeth to fetch water. These fellows are as treacherous as the natives of Tierra del Fuego, and vastly more warlike and dangerous."

"Are they cannibals, captain?" Mrs. Renshaw asked.

"That I cannot tell you for certain, Mrs. Renshaw. They are thieves and murderers, but whether they eat human flesh is more than I can tell. It does not concern me greatly whether if they kill me they eat me afterwards or not; but I do not mean to give them the chance of killing me or any of us, I can assure you."

"After the character you have given me of them I have no longer the slightest inclination to land, captain."

As soon as the vessel came to an anchor a number of canoes put out, laden with yams, cocoa-nuts, and other vegetables and fruit for exchange. Had they been allowed they would have come alongside and climbed up to the deck, but the captain would not permit them to come within thirty or forty yards. Although there was no one on board who could speak their language, his emphatic gestures were understood by the natives, and were sufficient to show them that he was not to be trifled with. Two boats only were allowed to approach at a time, and a guard of six sailors with muskets were placed on deck with orders to prevent anyone coming up, and to cover those who descended the gangway. The younger passengers thought that the captain was unnecessarily timid; but ready as he was to oblige them on ordinary occasions, they saw that this time it would be no use to try to change his determination that none should go on shore. Going down the gangway they bargained with the natives, giving little articles in exchange for fruit.

Mr. Atherton was evidently of the captain's opinion as to the necessity for prudence, and had stationed himself with his rifle near the gangway.

"They look quite peaceful and cheerful," Marion Renshaw said to him. "Do you think there is really any use in all these precautions, Mr. Atherton?"

"I do indeed, Miss Renshaw. I do not think one can be too careful when dealing with people who are notoriously so treacherous."

"Are you a good shot with a rifle, Mr. Atherton?"

"Yes; although I say it myself, I am an exceptionally good shot. I have practised a great deal with the rifle, and have, I suppose, a natural aptitude for it; for when I fire I am morally certain of hitting my mark, though I am hardly conscious of taking aim."

When the contents of a few boats had been taken on board the captain made signs that he required no more, and the natives, with looks of evident discontent, paddled back to the shore.

"We shall have some chiefs off in the morning," the captain said. "To-day they have kept in the background, but seeing that we are wary and on our guard they will probably come off to-morrow to view matters for themselves. I shall let them perceive that I am well prepared, and it may be when they see this they will be inclined to do a little honest trading, and to bring off a strong spar with which we can at anyrate make a shift for our mainmast. We will keep watch and watch as if we were at sea. It is as likely as not some of their canoes may be coming out in the night to see if we are to be caught napping."

"It is horrid," Kate Mitford said, as she with her sister, Marion, and several of the younger passengers stood together that evening on the poop looking towards the shore. The young moon was sinking in the west, the stars shone with great brilliancy, and the water was as smooth as glass. The outline of the palms could be made out against the sky, and in several places the light of fires could be perceived, and the stillness of the evening was broken by the hum of distant voices. "It is really a shame that we cannot go ashore. I am sure the savages looked civil and friendly, and it would be delightful to wander about in such a wood as that."

Two or three voices were raised in assent.

"Have you heard the little story of the spider and the fly, Miss Kate?" Mr. Atherton said, moving across from the other side of the deck, where he was smoking a cigar. "In that case, you know, it was the prettiest little bower that ever you did espy, and perhaps the fly admired it just as much as you admire that grove ashore. The result of a visit would be identical in both cases. Those on board other ships have been taken in by the peaceful appearance of the natives and the loveliness of the islands, and the result was fatal to them. Personally, I should feel much more comfortable if I saw those savages putting out in a body in their canoes to attack the ship than I do now while they are keeping up this pretence of friendliness. An open danger one can meet, but when you know that treachery is intended, but have no idea what form it will take or when the mask of friendship will be thrown off, it is trying to the nerves. Fortunately we know their character, and may hope to be ready when the danger comes. Still the waiting is trying."

"And you really feel that, Mr. Atherton?" Marion Renshaw asked.

"I do indeed, Miss Renshaw. We may get away without trouble; but if so, it will be solely because the natives see that we are prepared for them and are not to be taken by surprise. Seeing our crippled state, my own opinion is, that the natives will not let us go off without making at least one attempt to surprise us."

Mr. Atherton spoke strongly, for he thought that it was possible that some of the youngsters might, unless thoroughly roused to a sense of danger, do something foolish and rash. His words had the effect desired. His share in the affair at Rio had caused him to be regarded with respect and admiration by the young men on board, and they felt that if in his opinion the danger was grave it was not for them to doubt its reality. A vigilant watch was kept all night, and loaded muskets were served out to the watch on deck. The guns had been loaded before they anchored, and the spare muskets were placed so as to be handy for the watch below should they be suddenly called up. After the moon went down a light mist rose on the surface of the sea. Several times during the night faint sounds were heard near the ship, but immediately the officer of the watch challenged, silence reigned for a considerable time.

"How has the night passed, Ryan?" Mr. Atherton asked the first officer as soon as he came on deck, just as daylight was breaking.

"There have been some of them near us all night," Mr. Ryan replied. "I do not think they were in force, but they wanted to see whether we kept a sharp watch; and I think we have satisfied them as to that, for everytime the slightest noise was heard we hailed at once. I should like to have sent a musket-ball in the direction of the sound, but as we must get a spar, if possible, and shall be all the better for a score or two casks of fresh water, it won't do to begin to quarrel with them. Once we get what we want on board the beggars may attack us as soon as they like. It would do them a world of good to get handsomely thrashed, and to be taught that vessels are not to be plundered with impunity."

"As you say, it might do them good, but I hope there will be no trouble. I have no doubt whatever that we should beat them off, but we might lose some lives in doing it; besides, we have ladies on board."

"I hope so too; and, prepared as we are, I should feel quite safe if it was not for that mast being gone. They know that we are comparative cripples, and no doubt looked upon us as lawful booty when they saw us making in; and I do not think they will let themselves be balked of their prey without an effort."

"That is just my view of the matter, and I mean to keep a sharp look-out while we are here. You will all have your hands full, and I will get two or three of the young fellows to join with me in keeping a sharp watch over their doings."

"That is a good plan," the mate agreed. "There will, as you say, be plenty for us to do, and it worries one to have to attend to work and to keep one's eyes at the back of one's head at the same time. Of course we shall always have a watch set whatever we are doing, still I have more faith in your look-out than in that of half a dozen fo'castle hands."

When the two Allens and Wilfrid came on deck Mr. Atherton drew them aside. "Look here, lads," he began. "You heard what I said last night. I meant it, and I am sure I was not wrong, for there have been canoes hovering about us all night. Now, in a short time the officers and crew will be seeing about getting water on board, and if the natives bring out a spar that will do as a jury mainmast there will be the work of trimming it, getting it into its place, and rigging it. My own opinion is, that now the natives see we are suspicious and on the watch they will for some time make a show of being extremely friendly so as to throw us off our guard, and as the officers and sailors will be busy they may possibly relax their precautions a little. Now I propose that you and I shall constitute an amateur watch from sunrise to dark. After that the men's work will be done, and there will be no fear of their being taken by surprise. The real danger is, I think, in the daytime. Wilfrid and I will take the second-mate's watch, and do you two take the first-mate's—that is, if you agree to my proposal."

The three young fellows at once expressed their willingness to do as he directed them.

"During our respective watches," Mr. Atherton went on, "we must keep our attention directed solely to the natives. There must be no watching what is going on on board, no talking and laughing with the other passengers; we must consider ourselves as if on duty. One of us must take his place on the fo'castle, the other in the waist. The natives are sure to hang round the ship in their canoes watching what we are doing, and offering things for sale. It will be our duty to keep a vigilant eye upon them, to watch every movement, to give instant warning if their number is at any time larger than usual, and, in fact, to prevent the possibility of their closing suddenly in upon us and taking us by surprise. Remember, it is a case of absolute duty; I have volunteered to the first officer to undertake it, and he will, relying upon our vigilance, give his attention to his work."

"Shall we be armed, Mr. Atherton?" James Allen asked.

"Yes, James, I think that it will be as well to have our guns beside us while on duty. Of course there is no occasion to have them on our shoulders like sentries, but it will be well to have them always within reach of the hand in case of sudden danger. The report of a musket would give the alarm far quicker and more effectually than a shout would do, especially if men are at work on deck and making a noise. Well, as you agree, we will begin after breakfast."

"How about meals, sir?" Tom Allen asked. "If they mean to make an attack I should think they would be likely to choose meal-time, when the passengers are all below and the deck will be comparatively deserted."

"We must keep watch then also," Mr. Atherton said decidedly. "I will speak to Mr. Ryan and ask him to tell the steward that two of us will require something put on the table for them after the others have done. I do not think that he himself is likely to leave the deck when the captain is below, and the two of us who happen to be on duty can have our meals when he does. Of course whenever those on duty come down for this purpose the others will take their places until they return. We will change about each day. This is supposed to be your watch, Allen, from four to eight. Wilfrid and I will begin the work at that hour. You will relieve us at twelve, and we shall take the watch from four to eight. To-morrow we will take the early watch, and so on."

"I will tell the Grimstones," Wilfrid, who had always gone for a daily chat with the men forward, said; "they will be glad to join us in the watch, and I should think the other men forward would do so too. I know they all find it very hard work to get through the day."

The Grimstones at once agreed to keep watch, as did the other three men who occupied the fore cabin with them. Mr. Atherton got muskets and ammunition for them from Mr. Ryan, and the two Grimstones were appointed to his watch, the other men to that of the Allens.

At seven bells most of the passengers came on deck to enjoy the fresh morning air for an hour before breakfast.

"You are not going to enjoy the pleasure of Wilfrid's or my company at breakfast, Mrs. Renshaw," Mr. Atherton said, smiling, to that lady as she stood with the three girls round her on the poop.

"Why not, Mr. Atherton?" she asked in surprise.

"He and the Allens and myself are going to do amateur sentry work as long as we lie here, Mrs Renshaw. The crew will be all busy refitting the ship, and so I have volunteered to undertake, with their assistance, the duty of keeping a sharp eye on those tricky gentlemen ashore."

"Are you in earnest, Mr. Atherton?"

"Quite in earnest that we are going to do so, Mrs. Renshaw. There may be no absolute occasion for it, but there is nothing like keeping on the safe side; and as we cannot go ashore, and one cannot talk continuously for fifteen or sixteen hours, we may just as well pass a portion of our time in playing at sentinels."

"But when will you get breakfast?" Marion asked. "Shall I bring it up to you, Mr. Atherton?"

"No, thank you, Miss Renshaw. We have arranged to have it with Mr. Ryan afterwards. I am much obliged to you for your offer just the same. It is a very kind one, especially since you will, for once, particularly enjoy your breakfast, as you will have room for your elbows."

"You are laughing at me again, Mr. Atherton. One would really think that you take me to be about ten years old."

"I think a little teasing does you good, Miss Renshaw. It is one of the privileges of us old fellows to try to do good to our young friends; and girls of your age lord it so over their brothers and their brothers' friends, that it is good for them to be teased a little by their elders."

"Would not you think, mother," Marion appealed, "that Mr. Atherton by his talk was somewhere about eighty and that I was quite a child?"

"I agree with him that it is rather a good thing for girls of your age, Marion, to be snubbed a little occasionally; especially on a voyage like this, when there are several young fellows on board who have nothing better to do than to wait upon you and humour your whims."

There was a general laugh. Before a fresh subject was started the breakfast bell rang and the passengers went below. Mr. Atherton fetched his rifle from his cabin, and Wilfrid was going to unpack his double-barrelled gun when his friend said: "I should not bother about that now, Wilfrid; take one of the ship's muskets. It will make just as much noise if you have to fire it, and you will not be alarming the passengers by bringing your gun backwards and forwards from your cabin. I am going to hang up my rifle when I come off guard in Ryan's cabin on deck, where it will be handy. You take the fo'castle, your two men can be in the waist, one on each side, and I will take the poop. Just at present our duty will be a nominal one, as the canoes have not put out, but I expect they will be here before long."

Before breakfast was over, indeed, a large canoe was brought down from the woods and placed in the water, and a number of natives appeared on the shore. The first officer at once summoned the captain on deck.

"Tell all the men to have their arms handy, Mr. Ryan," the captain said as he looked at the gathering on shore. "I do not suppose they mean to attack us in this open way, still we may as well be upon our guard. Order the men not to show their arms, but to go about their work as usual. We do not wish to appear afraid of them, or to take up a position of hostility. I hope the chiefs are coming off for a friendly palaver."

In a few minutes the canoes put off from the shore. First came the great canoe, which was paddled by thirty men. In the bow and stern were hideous images. Four natives, evidently of superior rank, were seated near the stern, and in the bow stood a man beating his hands in time to the stroke of the paddles and singing a song, which was responded to by a deep exclamation from the rowers at every stroke. Another man stood by the side of the singer waving a green bough. Behind this great canoe followed a score of smaller ones.

"We will receive them in state, Mr. Ryan. Evidently they intend to keep up an appearance of friendliness at present. We will meet them in the same spirit. Fasten the signal flags on to the halyards and run them up to the masthead, let half a dozen men with cutlasses take their place at the gangway as a sort of guard of honour, let the rest go on with their work but keep their arms handy for action."

When the great canoe approached the vessel the men stopped paddling, and one of the chiefs standing up made an address to the captain, who was standing at the top of the gangway. Not a word that he said was understood, but the address seemed to be of a friendly nature, and the chief held up some cocoa-nuts and yams as if to show his desire to trade. When he had finished the captain took off his hat and also spoke, and by gestures invited the chiefs to come on board. By this time all the passengers had come on deck, and were watching the proceedings with great interest.

"Do you think it safe to let them on board?" the first officer asked Mr. Atherton, who was intently watching the natives in the smaller canoes.

"Quite safe," he replied. "So long as only a few of their followers come with them there is no fear of their attempting anything. While the chiefs are in our hands they act, as it were, as hostages for the good conduct of their people. So far their intentions are clearly peaceful. Whether that will last will depend upon whether they think there is a chance of success or not. At present all we have to do is to take advantage of it, and to get what we want on board."

By this time the canoe was approaching the side of the ship. The four chiefs ascended the ladder, followed by four or five of lower rank who had been seated near them. As they reached the deck the principal chief turned round and shouted an order in a loud voice. Its effect was immediate. The canoe in which they had arrived at once paddled away to a short distance, while the smaller craft, which had before been drifting slowly towards the vessel, also retired and lay huddled behind the large canoe.

CHAPTER VII.

A SAVAGE SURPRISE.

The captain led the way on to the poop, the chiefs and the natives with them following, while the first officer with the six sailors with sabres kept in their rear. Once on the quarter-deck Mr. Ryan ranged three of the men by the bulwark on either side, telling them to sheath their cutlasses, but to be prepared for instant action in case of treachery. The chiefs preserved a stolid demeanour, scarce glancing at the passengers, who were gathered on the poop. At the captain's orders the steward brought up a number of cushions and placed them on the deck in a circle. The captain seated himself on one and motioned to the chiefs to follow his example, which they did without hesitation. Mr. Ryan now brought up a number of things as presents for the chiefs, and each was presented with a hand mirror, a roll of scarlet cloth, and some trinkets, as a small supply of these had been brought on board for trade with the natives in case of the necessity arising.

The head chief was in addition presented with an axe, and rolls of coloured cotton strings of glass beads and some brass rings were given to the inferior chiefs. The natives appeared pleased with their presents. The captain then addressed them, and endeavoured to explain that he wanted a supply of water. An empty barrel was brought up and some water poured into this, and the captain then pointed to the shore, and by gestures intimated that he wished the barrels to be taken ashore and filled. The chiefs evidently understood the explanation, and nodded their assent. The captain then led them to the stump of the mainmast, pointed to the shore, and taking an axe imitated the action of chopping, and showed that he wanted them to fell a tree and bring it off to the vessel. The chief pointed to the boats hanging on the davits, placed the axe in the hands of one of the men, and clearly signified that the crew could go ashore and cut down a tree if they chose. The captain shook his head and placed the axe in the hands of one of the chiefs. Their leader, however, went up to the foremast, and by spreading out his arms signified that it was a great size, and then held out the small axe the captain had presented to him with an action of disdain.

"The beggar means that with one axe they would never cut down a tree of that size," the first officer said.

"That is all humbug, Ryan; they can bring down the biggest trees for the construction of their canoes. I believe they bring them down by fire. However, it is as well to humour them. Tell the carpenter to bring half a dozen axes."

This was done, and the axes laid down on the deck. There was now a consultation between the natives. After a while they nodded, and then made signs that someone must go ashore with them to choose the tree.

"What do you say, Ryan?" the captain asked. "It is of importance that we should get a stick that will suit us. The question is whether it will be safe to trust a man on shore with these scoundrels?"

"I will go ashore if you like, captain," Mr. Ryan replied.

"I do not like it, Ryan," the captain said. "You see, they would make mincemeat of an armed crew in no time."

"I should not propose to take a crew, sir; they could afford no protection against a number of natives. I do not think the beggars would assault a single man. You see, there would be nothing to gain by it; and if they did it would put the ship on its guard, and their game at present is evidently to be friendly. I do not think there is any danger in the affair. If I did not go they might send off some stick that would be of no use at all to us, and as we came in on purpose to get a mast it is worth while risking something."

"Well, Ryan," the captain said after a moment's deliberation, "I think perhaps you are right, and that one man would be safe with them. It is certainly of great importance for us to get the sort of stick we want, so as you are ready to volunteer I do not think myself justified in refusing your offer." The captain then put his hand on the chief officer's shoulder and intimated to the natives that he would accompany them on shore. The party then returned to the poop, and the steward brought up some tumblers and two or three bottles of rum. The chiefs' eyes glistened as the liquor was poured out, and each swallowed a half tumbler of the spirit with an air of the deepest satisfaction.

"That is the present they like best," the captain said; "and I suppose I had better give them some for consumption on shore. At any rate it will keep them in a good temper until Ryan is back again." Accordingly two bottles of rum were presented to the leading chief, a bottle to the three next in rank, and two or three bottles among the others. The great canoe was hailed, the natives again took their places in it, accompanied by the first officer, and the boat then started for the shore. Some of the smaller craft now came alongside, and the process of barter was again commenced. Yams, bread-fruit, and other products of the island were obtained for the use of the ship in exchange for beads, empty bottles, and small mirrors, while the passengers succeeded in obtaining many curiously carved weapons, calabashes, woven cloths, and other mementoes of their visit. Only two or three of the canoes were allowed alongside at a time, and a vigilant look-out was maintained to see that the others did not approach the ship. The captain walked restlessly up and down the poop, constantly turning his glass upon the shore.

An hour after the great canoe had reached it he exclaimed in a tone of intense satisfaction, "There is Ryan coming down to the beach. Thank heaven he is safe!" The first-mate was seen to take his place in a small canoe, which at once rowed off to the ship. The captain shook him heartily by the hand as he stepped on deck. "Thank heaven you have got back safely, Ryan! it has been a hazardous business, and I shall take care to let the owners know how you have risked your life by going ashore in their service. Well, how have you succeeded?"

"I found a grand pine growing within thirty or forty yards of the water, about a quarter of a mile beyond that point to the left. As I expected, the natives had no idea of using the axes for such a purpose. When I left them a party were piling wood round the foot of the tree, and I have no doubt they will soon get it down in their own way. I suppose they will waste ten or twelve feet at the base, but that is of no consequence, for the tree is long enough and to spare to make us a fair-sized mainmast."

"That is right; and as it is so close to the water we can send a boat to see how they are getting on. How about water?"

"They showed me a spring about fifty yards from the beach, nearly facing us. There is plenty of water there, and it is perfectly fresh and sweet, for I tasted it. If they make any bother about bringing it off, a couple of boats with well-armed parties could fetch it without difficulty as the distance is so short."

"That is capital, Ryan. I hope our difficulties are pretty well over, and that we shall get off without any trouble with these fellows."

"I hope so, sir. They certainly seemed friendly enough with me on shore."

In the evening Mr. Ryan, with a crew of six men, went in the captain's gig to see how the natives were getting on with the tree. The men had their muskets and cutlasses laid under the thwarts in readiness for action. The natives, however, appeared perfectly friendly. The crews of several of the canoes near which they passed shouted some sort of greeting, but paid no other attention to them. On rounding the point the first officer steered straight for the tree he had chosen. A light smoke was ascending from its foot, and half a dozen natives were gathered there. When close to the spot he ordered the men to turn the boat round and back her ashore.

"I am going to land, lads," he said, "and see how they are getting on. I do not think that there is the least danger, but you had best keep in readiness to row off the instant I jump on board."

Mr. Ryan then proceeded to the tree. He found that a circle of small fires had been built against it. These were fed with dry wood, and were slowly but steadily eating their way into the tree, and he saw that only two or three feet of the base would be injured by their action. He nodded approvingly to the natives, but muttered to himself: "It's a mighty slow way of bringing down a tree. It is not much above three feet and a half in diameter, even at the base, and a couple of men with axes would bring it down in an hour, while there is no saying how long they will be with these fires of theirs. However, I should say that they will get through it to-night or some time to-morrow. It is a fine stick, and runs up as straight as an arrow, and is thick enough for fifty feet for our purpose."

He walked quietly back to the boat, took his seat, and was rowed back to the ship, where he reported that the natives were carrying out their promise, and that by the next day the tree would be down. On visiting the spot again on the following morning it was found that the tree had fallen.

"The fellows know their business," Mr. Ryan said to the man who rowed the stroke-oar. "You see that they managed so that it should fall towards the water. Now, lads, you can take to the axes we have brought with us and chop it through at the point where we want it cut; it will save the trouble of getting off the upper branches, and render it much more handy for getting afloat."

Leaving two of the men in the boat, Mr. Ryan and the other four leapt ashore, and were not long in cutting through the tree. Another half-hour sufficed to lop off all the branches below this point, and the trunk was then ready for launching. The natives stood round watching the work with exclamations of surprise at the speed with which the keen axes did their work. Mr. Ryan had brought with him from the ship a number of presents, and these he distributed among the party who had been engaged in felling the tree.

"I do not know," he said to the captain when he returned, "whether they mean to get the stick in the water and bring it here, or whether they expect we shall do that part of the business ourselves."

"I think we will wait until to-morrow morning, Mr. Ryan. If we hear nothing of them by then you had better take two boats—one with men to do the work, the other to lie just off and protect them while they do it."

There was, however, no occasion for this, for early the next morning seven or eight canoes were seen coming round the point with much beating of tom-toms and sounding of conch horns.

"Here comes the spar!" the captain exclaimed; "the worst of our difficulties is over, thank goodness!"

"I would keep an eye open, Ryan, if I were you," Mr. Atherton said as the mate passed him to give orders for preparing to get the spar on deck. "There are a good many other canoes coming off from the shore, and they might take the opportunity for making a sudden attack."

"Right you are," the mate said. "Let the starboard watch," he shouted, "keep their arms handy! Four men with muskets take their place at the top of the gangway, but do not show the arms unless you get orders to do so!"

The trunk was towed alongside the ship. Mr. Atherton and the party who had placed themselves under his orders kept a vigilant watch on the canoes to see if the occupants were armed. There was a deal of talking and gesticulating going on among them, but no arms could be seen, and Mr. Atherton soon concluded that if treachery was intended the present was not the time at which it would be shown. The crew were all on deck, and the natives must have known their arms were close at hand, for each day a few of those who came to trade had been permitted to come on deck, partly to show confidence on the part of those on board, partly that the visitors might see the arms lying in readiness for use, and be able to report on shore that the ship was not to be taken by surprise.

No sooner was the spar alongside than a couple of sailors lowered themselves down and passed ropes round it. These ropes were then passed through blocks and taken to the capstan. The bars were fitted and seized by a dozen men. The boatswain's whistle sounded, and starting their anchor song the men tramped round and round, the ropes tightened, and the heavy spar was parbuckled up on to the deck. No sooner was it got on board than the four chiefs who had before visited the ship came alongside. There was another talk, and they were presented with a considerable number of presents for themselves and followers as a reward for their service in sending off the spar. Mr. Atherton and Wilfrid did not approach the group of passengers round the chiefs, keeping their attention vigilantly upon the boats, from which the danger, if it existed, would come.

The Allens, however, in accordance with Mr. Atherton's instructions, watched the natives closely, and noticed as they came on deck they cast quick and scrutinizing glances round them as if to see what were the chances of a surprise. Mr. Ryan, however, had, when he saw the great canoe approaching, placed ten men with muskets on guard, and the chiefs doubtless perceived that a surprise could not be effected. After a stay of about a quarter of an hour the chiefs departed with their presents, of which, by the care they took of it, it was evident that they considered a case of rum to be by far the most precious. No sooner was the trunk of the pine fairly on board than a gang of men provided with adzes began, under the direction of the carpenter, to prepare it. The bark was chipped off, the stumps of the branches shaved close, and they then began to chip it down to the required thickness from end to end.

"It will make a fine spar," the captain said in a tone of great satisfaction, after he had examined it. "I think it will do for her permanent mast. If it will it will save us a lot of trouble when we get into Wellington."

"I think it will be a little light, sir," Mr. Ryan said, "by the time we have got it perfectly smooth and even. Still, I have seen lighter spars in a ship of this size, and I certainly think we are most fortunate in getting such a stick. When do you think you will get it ready, Watson?"

"I should say we shall have it nearly ready for getting into its place by to-morrow night, Mr. Ryan," the carpenter replied, "though we may not quite finish it until next day; for, you see, when it comes to getting it smoothed, I and my mate must do it by ourselves."

"I should not be particular about smoothing it," the captain said, "but of course you must make it so that it will take the spare irons we have got for the topmast. We shall have plenty of time to put the finishing touches to it when we get to Wellington. I begin to think these natives are not so black as they are painted, Mr. Ryan."

"Perhaps not, sir; but maybe if they had not seen that we were so ready for them there would be a different tale to tell."

"That is so," the captain agreed. "There is no doubt that the best way of dealing with natives is never to give them a chance."

The carpenter's gang continued steadily at their work, while the first officer got up the sheer-legs and hoisted the stump of the mainmast from its place. The butt of the new mainmast was cut to match this, and on the second day after it arrived alongside it was hoisted into its position. The whole of the stays and rigging of the mainmast had been cut away as soon as it went overboard; but there was plenty of spare rope on board, and before evening the new mast was firmly stayed in its place, and all was in readiness for hoisting the spar that was to serve as topmast.

The natives had watched the proceedings with great interest. Quite a crowd of canoes gathered round the ship, and were greatly surprised at seeing the heavy spar raised by the sheers and dropped into its place; and they replied to the hearty cheers that rose from the crew and passengers when this was accomplished by wild yells and cries and the sounding of their horns.

"I begin to think," the captain said to Mr. Atherton, "that the natives have got a worse name than they deserve. I do not mean, of course, that they have not perpetrated several atrocious massacres, but I expect these must have been the result of extreme carelessness on the part of those on ships, or perhaps of rough treatment, for some captains treat the natives of islands like these like dogs. As far as they could have told there was an excellent chance of attacking the ship to-day, though we know that we kept up a vigilant watch all the time, and yet nothing could have been more friendly than they were."

"There is no doubt something in what you say, captain," Mr. Atherton agreed. "Many of the captains of the ships who trade among these islands are certainly rough fellows, who would think nothing of knocking a native down, and others again are so culpably careless as to offer almost an inducement to the natives to grasp what is to them untold wealth. Still, I think it is as well to be cautious."

"Of course we shall be cautious," the captain replied; "but I really do not think that you and the others need bother yourselves to be always standing on sentry."

"It is no trouble," Mr. Atherton said, "and I think we will keep it up until we are fairly under weigh."

Mr. Atherton was not pleased at seeing that the captain the next day relaxed somewhat in the strictness of the rules he laid down, and the crew were allowed to trade freely with the natives.

"We must be more vigilant than ever," he said to Wilfrid and the Allens. "The captain is so pleased at having got his mast on board that he is disposed to view the natives with friendly eyes, which, if they mean treachery, is just what they want. Finding that we were too much on the watch to be taken by surprise, they would naturally try to lull us with a sense of false security."

In the afternoon the chief again came off and formally invited the captain to a feast on shore. He accepted the invitation, and went back with them, accompanied by three or four of the passengers who had scoffed at the idea of danger. After a stay of two or three hours they returned on board.

"I think, Mr. Ryan," the captain said that evening, "you had better take a couple of boats in the morning and go ashore for water. We shall have everything ready for getting up our anchor after dinner. Of course your crew will be well armed and take every precaution, but I do not think that there is the slightest danger."

"Very well, sir. You may be sure I will keep my weather-eye open."

Mr. Atherton shook his head when in the morning he saw the boats being lowered, and heard from the first officer the orders he had received.

"From what you say there is water enough to last us to Wellington if we are all put on somewhat shorter allowance, and that would be infinitely better than running the risk of your going ashore."

"The water might last if all goes well," the mate said, "but if we were to get becalmed for some time, which is likely enough in these latitudes, we should be in an awkward fix. I shall keep a sharp look-out on shore, never fear. The distance to the spring is, as I told you, not above fifty yards, and I will keep half the men filling and the other half on guard. If they should mean mischief we will give it them hot."

"How many men will you take?"

"Sixteen—ten in the cutter and six in the gig."

"That would only leave us ten on board," Mr. Atherton said. "If they attack you they will attack us too, that is a moral certainty. At any rate, I will hint to some of the passengers that they had better keep their arms in readiness while you are away."

Mr. Atherton refused to go down to breakfast when the Allens came up to relieve him after finishing their meal.

"We will have both watches on deck this morning," he said. "We shall be very short-handed while Ryan and his party are away. Unfortunately the captain is convinced there is not the slightest danger. He snubbed me this morning quite smartly when I said casually that I supposed that he would not let any of the natives on board while Ryan was away."

As the rest of the passengers came up from breakfast, Mr. Atherton spoke to some of those with whom he had been most intimate on the voyage, and told them that he thought it would be just as well for them to bring their arms on deck and keep them close at hand until the watering party returned.

"It is no great trouble," he said, "and it is just as well to be ready in case the natives mean mischief. I know that some of the youngsters consider me to be an alarmist, and I will give them free leave to laugh at me when we are once safely out at sea, but the stake is too heavy to admit of carelessness; there are not only our own lives but those of the ladies to be thought of."

Three or four of the passengers followed this advice and brought their muskets or double-barrelled guns on deck. They were a good deal laughed at by the rest, who asked them if they had joined Atherton's army, as the little party who had kept watch were called. However, when the boats pushed off with the empty casks, and the passengers saw how large was the complement of the crew who had left them, three of the others strolled down to the cabin and got their guns. In half an hour the great canoe with the chiefs came off, and as it approached the ship Mr. Atherton told Wilfrid to go forward, and tell the five men there to come aft and be in readiness to mount to the poop the moment they saw any sign of trouble. "If there is a row," he said, "we have to hold the poop. There are only the two ladders to defend, and we can do that; but it would be useless to try to hold the whole of the ship."

As the captain left the poop and went down into the waist to receive the chiefs, Mr. Atherton went up to where Mrs. Renshaw was sitting.

"Will you take my advice, Mrs. Renshaw?"

"Certainly I will," she said, smiling; "for I am sure it will be good, whatever it is."

"Then, Mrs. Renshaw, I advise you at once to go below with your daughter and the Miss Mitfords. I do not say that we are going to have trouble, but if we are this is the time. Pray oblige me by doing as I ask."

Mrs. Renshaw at once rose, called Marion and the other two girls, who were gaily chatting with a group of the passengers, and asked them to go below with her. Wilfrid and the two Allens were now on the poop, as Mr. Atherton had told them that they had better remain there instead of placing themselves at other points. The Grimstones and the three other passengers forward were gathered near the ladders.

As usual the chiefs accompanied the captain on to the poop, followed by half a dozen of the minor chiefs; and Mr. Atherton noticed that several of the others, instead of sitting quietly in the canoe, slipped up after them on to the deck. The flotilla of small canoes, which had as usual put out in the train of the large one, was edging in towards the vessel. Mr. Atherton leant over the poop rail and spoke to the second officer, who was engaged in the waist with the men.

"Mr. Rawlins, I do not quite like the look of things. I think that it would be as well if you were to gather as many of the hands as you can at the foot of the ladder here, without, of course, alarming the natives, as it may be only my fancy."

The second-mate nodded, and at once told the men with him to knock off from their work. "Get hold of your cutlasses quietly," he said, "and gather near the foot of the starboard port ladder." Then going to the gangway he stopped a native who was just climbing up from the canoe, and motioned to them that no more were to come on board.

The talk with the chiefs was a short one. The stewards brought up two cases of rum, and when these were handed over to them the natives rose as if to go. Suddenly the leader drew his axe from his girdle, and with a loud yell buried it deep in the captain's head.

The yell was echoed from some hundred throats, the crew of the canoe leapt to their feet and began to clamber up the side of the vessel, while those in the smaller craft dashed their paddles into the water and urged their boats towards it. At the same moment the natives on board all drew concealed weapons. So quick had been the action of the chief that Mr. Atherton had not time to prevent it, but before the body of the captain touched the deck that of the chief was stretched beside it with a bullet through the brain.

Wilfrid and the Allens seeing the natives rise to go had thought the danger over, and two passengers had been struck down before they brought their rifles to their shoulders. They were within a few feet of the chiefs, and each of their shots told. For a minute or two there was a scene of wild confusion. The natives in the waist fell furiously upon the sailors, but these, fortunately put upon their guard, received the attack with determination. The sound of the lads' rifles was followed almost instantly by the sharp cracks of a revolver Mr. Atherton produced from his pocket, and each shot told with fatal effect. When the revolver was empty not a native remained alive on the poop.

The other passengers had been taken so completely by surprise that even those who had brought up their arms did not join in the fray until the poop was cleared. "Keep them back there!" Mr. Atherton shouted as the natives came swarming up the ladder on the port side. Several shots were fired, but the passengers were too startled for their aim to be true.

"Give me your musket, Renshaw!" Mr. Atherton exclaimed, snatching the piece the latter had just discharged from his hands, "my rifle is too good for this work." He then clubbed the weapon, and whirling it round his head as if it had been a straw fell upon the natives, who were just pouring up on to the poop, shouting to the passengers, "Fire on the mass below! I will keep these fellows at bay!" Every blow that fell stretched a man lifeless on deck, until those who had gained the poop, unable to retreat owing to the pressure of those behind them, and terrified by the destruction wrought by this giant, sprang over the bulwark into the sea. Just as they did so the little party of sailors and steerage passengers, finding themselves unable to resist the pressure, made their way up to the poop by the starboard ladder, hotly pressed by the natives.

By this time several of the male passengers who had rushed below for their weapons ran up, and Wilfred and the Allens having reloaded, such a discharge was poured into the natives on the port ladder that the survivors leapt down on to the deck below, and the attack for a moment ceased. The whole of the forward portion of the ship was by this time in the hands of the natives. Three sailors who were at work there had been at once murdered, only one of the party having time to make his escape up the fore rigging. Spears now began to fly fast over the poop.

"We must fall back a bit, Mr. Rawlins, or we shall be riddled," Mr. Atherton said. "Your men had better run down and get muskets; we will keep these fellows at bay. I do not think they will make a rush again just at present. Will you see that the door leading out on to the waist is securely barricaded, and place two or three men there? Mr. Renshaw, will you and some of the other passengers carry down those ladies who have fainted, and assure them all that the danger is really over."

Mr. Atherton had so naturally taken the command that the second mate at once obeyed his instructions. Most of the ladies had rushed below directly the fray began, but two or three had fainted, and these were soon carried below. The male passengers, eighteen in all, were now on deck. Several of them looked very pale and scared, but even the most timid felt that his life depended on his making a fight for it. A perfect shower of spears were now flying over the poop from the natives in the canoes alongside, and from the ship forward.

"We had best lie down, gentlemen," Mr. Atherton said. "If the natives make a rush up the ladders we must be careful not to fire all at once or we should be at their mercy. Let those by the bulwarks fire first, and the others take it up gradually while the first reload. Of course if they make a really determined rush there will be nothing to do but to meet them and drive them back again."

Unfortunately the four cannon of the Flying Scud were all amidships, and were therefore not available for the defence.

"If we could make a breastwork, Mr. Atherton, so that we could stand up behind it and fire down into the waist we might drive these fellows out," the second officer suggested.

"A very good idea. Wilfrid, will you run down and ask the ladies to get up to the top of the companion all the mattrasses, trunks, and other things that would do to form a barricade? It will be a good thing for them to have something to do. Mr. Rawlins, will you send down the stewards to help? they might get some cases and barrels up. As fast as they bring them up we will push them along the deck and form a breastwork."

CHAPTER VIII.

THE END OF THE VOYAGE.

When Wilfred went below to get materials for a barricade, he found the ladies kneeling or sitting calm and quiet, although very pale and white, round the table, while Mrs. Renshaw was praying aloud. She concluded her prayer just as he came down. There was a general chorus of questions.

"Everything is going on well," Wilfrid said cheerfully; "but we want to make a breastwork, for the spears are flying about so, one cannot stand up to fire at them. I have come to ask you all to carry up mattrasses and pillows and cushions and portmanteaus, and anything else that will make a barricade. The steward will open the lazaret and send up barrels and things. Please set to work at once."

Not a moment was lost; the ladies carried the things rapidly up the companion, two of the passengers passed them outside, and others lying in a line pushed them forward from one to another until they arrived at those lying, rifle in hand, twenty feet aft of the poop rails. There was soon a line of mattrasses four deep laid across the deck.

"That will do to begin with," Mr. Atherton said. "Now, let us push these before us to the end of the poop, and we can then commence operations. The sailors, Wilfrid Renshaw, the Allens, and myself will first open fire. Will the rest of you please continue to pass things along to add to the height of our barricade? I wish we knew how they are getting on on shore." For almost immediately after the struggle had begun on board the sound of musketry had broken out from that quarter, and they knew that the watering party had been attacked directly the natives knew that their chiefs had commenced the massacre on board ship.

Several times, in spite of the danger from the flying spears, Mr. Atherton had gone to the stern and looked towards the shore. The boats lay there seemingly deserted, and the fight was going on in the wood. A number of canoes had placed themselves so as to cut off the return of the boats should the sailors succeed in making their way to them.

As soon as the line of mattrasses was pushed forward to the edge of the poop a steady fire was opened upon the natives, who had already taken off the hatches, and were engaged in bringing their plunder up on deck, deferring the dangerous operation of carrying the poop for the present.

As soon, however, as the fire opened upon them they seized their spears and tomahawks, and, led by one of their chiefs, made a rush at the two poop ladders. Mr. Atherton gave a shout, and the whole of the passengers seizing their muskets sprang to their feet and ran forward to the barricade, and so heavy a fire was poured into the natives as they tried to ascend the ladders, that they fell back again and contented themselves with replying to the fire with volleys of spears. The passengers at once renewed their work of passing the materials for the barricade forward, and this was continued until it rose breast high. They then took their places closely together behind it, and joined its defenders in keeping up a heavy fire upon the natives. So deadly was its effect that the latter began to lose heart and to jump over into the canoes alongside.

A cheer broke from the passengers as they saw the movement of retreat. It was no longer necessary for any to reserve their fire, and this was redoubled. The natives were discouraged by the want of leaders; their principal chiefs had all been killed on the poop, and any other who attempted to rally them and lead them again to an attack was instantly shot down by Mr. Atherton, who, as Wilfrid, who was standing next to him observed, never once failed to bring down the man he aimed at.

"I think we might go at them, sir, now," the second officer said to Mr. Atherton; "the fight is all out of them."

"I think so too, Rawlins. Now, gentlemen, give them one last volley and then pull down the barricade across the ends of the ladders and charge them." The volley was given, and then with a ringing cheer the barricade was thrust aside, and, led on one side by Mr. Atherton and on the other by the second officer, the defenders of the poop sprang down the ladders and rushed forward. The natives did not stop to await them, but sprung overboard with the greatest precipitation, and the Flying Scud was once again in the hands of its lawful owners.

"Now, Rawlins, do you and the sailors work the guns, we will pepper them with our rifles," Mr. Atherton said. "Mr. Renshaw, will you go aft and tell the ladies that all is over?"

But this they had already learned. Marion, after the things had been passed up, had taken her place at the top of the companion, occasionally peering out to see what was going on, and running down with the news to them below, and as the loud cheer which preceded the charge had broken from those on deck, she had called out to the ladies below that the natives were beaten. The shower of spears from the boats had ceased as soon as the natives saw their friends leaping overboard, and as Mr. Renshaw ascended the poop to deliver the message the ladies were flocking out on deck, each anxious to ascertain whether those most dear to them had suffered in the fray. Marion run forward and threw herself into his arms.

"Not hurt, father?"

"No, my dear, thank God. Some of us have got spear wounds more or less awkward, but nobody has been killed except those who were struck down at the beginning." As he spoke the four cannon boomed out one after another, for they had been loaded some days before, and a hail of bullets and pieces of iron with which they had been crammed tore through the canoes, while terrible yells rose from the natives. Three of the canoes were instantly sunk, and half the paddlers in the large boat of the chief were killed or disabled. Almost the same instant a dropping fire of musketry was opened, the passengers firing as soon as they had reloaded their pieces.

"Give another dose to that big fellow!" the second officer shouted to the men at the two guns at that side of the ship. "Shove a ball in, men, and a bagful of bullets—take steady aim, and remember the poor captain!" A minute later the guns were fired. A terrible cry was heard, and almost instantaneously the great canoe disappeared below the water.

"Get the other two guns over to this side," Mr. Rawlins said; "we must lend a hand now to the party ashore. Load all the guns with grape, and aim at those canoes between us and them." These, following the example of those around the ship, were already moving towards the shore, and the discharge of the four guns sunk two of them and sent the others off in headlong flight.

"What had we better do now, Mr. Atherton?"

"I should load with round shot now, Rawlins, and open fire into the wood on both sides of the landing-place. The sound of the shot crashing among the trees will demoralize the scoundrels even if you do not hit anyone."

Three or four rounds were fired, and then those on board gave a cheer as they saw the sailors issue out from among the trees and take their places in the boats. Half a minute later they were rowing towards the vessel, unmolested by the natives. Mr. Ryan stood up in the stern of his boat as soon as they were within hailing distance and shouted—"How has it gone with you?"

"We have beaten them off, as you see," the second officer shouted back; "but the ship was pretty nearly in their hands for a time. The captain is killed, I am sorry to say; four of our men, and two of the passengers. How have you done?"

"We have lost three men," Mr. Ryan replied, "and most of us are wounded."

The boats were soon alongside, and Mr. Ryan, after hearing what had taken place on board, related his experience. "We had got about half the casks filled when we heard a rifle shot on board a ship, followed directly by the yells of the black divils. I ordered the men to drop the casks and take to their guns, but I had scarcely spoken when a volley of spears fell among us. Two men were killed at once. I had intended to take to the boats and come off to lend you a hand, but by the yelling and the shower of spears I saw that the spalpeens were so thick round us that if we had tried we should pretty well all be killed before we could get fairly out, so I told the men to take to the trees and keep up a steady fire whenever the natives tried to make a rush at us. I was, of course, terribly anxious about you all at first, and I knew that if the ship was taken they must have us all sooner or later. After the first few shots there was silence for a time, and I feared the worst."

"The spears were flying so thick we could not stand up to fire," the second officer put in.

"Ah! that was it. Well, I was afraid you had all been massacred, and you may imagine how relieved I was when I heard a dropping fire of musketry begin; I knew then that they had failed to take you by surprise. The fire at last got so heavy I was sure that most of you had escaped the first attack, and we then felt pretty hopeful, though I did not see how we were to get down to the boats and get off to you. When we heard the first cannon shot we gave a cheer that must have astonished the natives, for we knew you must have cleared the deck of the scoundrels. I had set a man at the edge of the trees by the water to let us know how you were going on, and he soon shouted that the canoes were drawing off! Then we heard the big canoe was sunk, and that you had driven off the craft that were lying between us and the ship. A minute later the round shot came crashing among the trees, and almost immediately the yelling round us ceased, and we felt sure they must be drawing off. We waited until you had fired a couple more rounds, and then as all seemed quiet we fell back to the boats, and, as you saw, got off without a single spear being thrown at us. I am awfully sorry for the poor captain. If he had but taken your advice, Mr. Atherton, all this would not have happened; but at last he got to trust these treacherous scoundrels, and this is the result."

"Well, Mr. Ryan, you are in command now," Mr. Atherton said, "and we are all ready to carry out any orders that you will give us."

"First of all then, Mr. Atherton, I must, in the name of the owners of this ship, of myself, the officers and crew, thank you for having saved it and us from the hands of these savages. From what Mr. Rawlins tells me, and from what I know myself, I am convinced that had it not been for your vigilance, and for the part you have taken in the defence of the ship, the natives would have succeeded in their treacherous design of massacring all on board almost without resistance."

A cheer broke from the passengers and crew, and Mr. Renshaw said when it had subsided: "I, on the part of the passengers, endorse all that Mr. Ryan has said; we owe it to you, Atherton, that by God's mercy we and those dear to us have escaped from death at the hands of these savages. It was you who put some of us on our guard; it was your marvellous shooting with the revolver that first cleared the poop; and your extraordinary strength, that enabled you single-handed to check the onslaught of the natives and give us time to rally from our first surprise, and saved the ship and us."

"Do not let us say anything more about it," Mr. Atherton said; "we have all done our duty to the best of our power, and have reason to be heartily thankful to God that we have got out of this scrape without heavier loss than has befallen us. Now, Mr. Ryan, please give your orders."

"The first thing, undoubtedly, is to clear the deck of these bodies," Mr. Ryan said.

"What about the wounded?" Mr. Renshaw asked, "no doubt some of the poor wretches are still alive."

"They do not deserve any better fate than to be tossed overboard with the others; still, as that would go against the grain, we will see what we can do." He looked over the side. "There is a good-sized canoe floating there fifty yards away. I suppose the fellows thought it would be safer to jump overboard and swim ashore. Four of you men get out the gig and tow the canoe alongside. We will put any wounded we find into it and send it adrift; they will come out and pick it up after we are fairly off."

The bodies of sixty natives who had been killed outright were thrown overboard, and eighteen who were found to be still alive were lowered into the canoe. "I do not think we are really doing them much kindness, though of course we are doing the best we can for them," Mr. Atherton said to Mr. Renshaw. "I doubt if one of them will live. You see, all who were able to drag themselves to the side jumped overboard, and were either drowned or hauled into the canoes."

As soon as the operation was over the casks of water were got on board and the boats hoisted to the davits. The anchor was then hove up and some of the sails shaken out, and with a gentle breeze the vessel began to draw off the land. As soon as this was done all hands set to work washing down the decks; and in two or three hours, except for the bullet marks on the deck and bulwarks, there were no signs left of the desperate conflict that had raged on board the Flying Scud. At sunset all hands gathered on the poop, and the bodies of the captain and two passengers, and of the sailors who had fallen, were reverently delivered to the deep, Mr. Ryan reading the funeral service.

The ladies had retired below after the boats had come alongside, and did not come up until all was ready for the funeral. Mrs. Renshaw and three or four of the others had been employed in dressing the wounds of those who had been injured. Four out of the six sailors who had survived the massacre on board had been more or less severely wounded before they won their way on the quarter-deck, and six of the watering party were also wounded. Eight of the passengers had been struck with the flying spears; but only two of these had received wounds likely to cause anxiety. After the funeral was over more sail was hoisted, the breeze freshened, and the Flying Scud proceeded briskly on her way.

The rest of the voyage was uneventful. Thankful as all were for their escape, a gloom hung over the ship. The death of the captain was much felt by all. He had been uniformly kind and obliging to the passengers, and had done everything in his power to make the voyage a pleasant one. One of the passengers who was killed was a young man with none on board to mourn him, but the other had left a widow and two children, whose presence in their midst was a constant reminder of their narrow escape from destruction.

The voyage had produced a very marked change in Mr. Renshaw. It had brought him in far closer connection with his children than he had ever been before, with results advantageous to each. Hitherto they had scarcely ever seen him except at meals, and even at these times his thoughts were so wholly taken up with the writings on which he was engaged that he had taken but little part in the general conversation beyond giving a willing assent to any request they made, and evincing no interest whatever in their plans and amusements.

Now, although for four or five hours a day he worked diligently at his study of the Maori language, he was at other times ready to join in what was going on. He often walked the deck by the hour with Wilfrid and Marion, and in that time learned far more of their past life, of their acquaintances and amusements at their old home, than he had ever known before. He was genial and chatty with all the other passengers, and the astonishment of his children was unbounded when he began to take a lively part in the various amusements by which the passengers whiled away the long hours, and played at deck quoits and bull. The latter game consists of a board divided into twelve squares, numbered one to ten, with two having bulls' heads upon them; leaden discs covered with canvas are thrown on to this board, counting according to the number on which they fall, ten being lost for each quoit lodged on a square marked by a bull's head.

On the evening of the day before the shores of New Zealand came in sight Mr. Renshaw was sitting by his wife. "The voyage is just finished, Helen," he said. "It has been a pleasant time. I am sorry it is over."

"A very pleasant time, Alfred," she replied, "one of the most pleasant I have ever spent."

"I see now," he went on, "that I have made a mistake of my life, and instead of making an amusement of my hobby for archæology have thrown away everything for it. I have been worse than selfish. I have utterly neglected you and the children. Why, I seem only to have made an acquaintance with them since we came on board a ship. I see now, dear, that I have broken my marriage vows to you. I have always loved you and always honoured you, but I have altogether failed to cherish you."

"You have always been good and kind, Alfred," she said softly.

"A man may be good and kind to a dog, Helen; but that is not all that a wife has a right to expect. I see now that I have blundered miserably. I cannot change my nature altogether, dear; that is too late. I cannot develop a fund of energy by merely wishing for it; but I can make the happiness of my wife and children my first thought and object, and my own pursuits the second. I thought the loss of our money was a terrible misfortune. I do not think so now. I feel that I have got my wife again and have gained two children, and whatever comes of our venture here I shall feel that the failure of the bank has brought undeserved happiness to me."

"And to me also," Mrs. Renshaw said softly as she pressed her husband's hand. "I feel sure that we shall all be happier than we have ever been before. Not that we have been unhappy, dear, very far from it; still you have not been our life and centre, and it has been so different since the voyage began."

"He is not half a bad fellow, after all," Mr. Atherton said, as leaning against the bulwark smoking his cigar he had glanced across at the husband and wife seated next to each other talking in low tones, and evidently seeing nothing of what was passing around them. "He has brightened up wonderfully since we started. Of course he will never be a strong man, and is no more fit for a settler's life than he is for a habitation in the moon. Still, he is getting more like other people. His thoughts are no longer two or three thousand years back. He has become a sociable and pleasant fellow, and I am sure he is very fond of his wife and children. It is a pity he has not more backbone. Still, I think the general outlook is better than I expected. Taking it altogether it has been as pleasant a voyage as I have ever made. There is the satisfaction too that one may see something of one's fellow-passengers after we land. This northern island is not, after all, such a very big place. That is the worst of homeward voyages. People who get to know and like each other when they arrive in port scatter like a bomb-shell in every direction, and the chances are against your ever running up against any of them afterwards."

Somewhat similar ideas occupied the mind of most of the passengers that evening. The voyage had been a pleasant one, and they were almost sorry that it was over; but there was a pleasurable excitement at the thought that they should next day see the land that was to be their home, and the knowledge that they should all be staying for a few days at Wellington seemed to postpone the break-up of their party for some little time.

No sooner was the anchor dropped than a number of shore boats came off to the ship. Those who had friends on shore and were expecting to be met watched anxiously for a familiar face, and a cry of delight broke from the two Mitfords as they saw their father and mother in one of these boats. After the first joyful greeting was over the happy little party retired to the cabin, where they could chat together undisturbed, as all the passengers were on deck. Half an hour later they returned to the deck, and the girls led their father and mother up to Mrs. Renshaw.

"I have to thank you most heartily, Mrs. Renshaw, for your great kindness to my girls. They tell me that you have throughout the voyage looked after them as if they had been your own daughters."

"There was no looking after required, I can assure you," Mrs. Renshaw said. "I was very pleased, indeed, to have them in what I may call our little party, and it was a great advantage and pleasure to my own girl."

"We are going ashore at once," Mr. Mitford said. "My girls tell me that you have no acquaintances here. My own place is hundreds of miles away, and we are staying with some friends while waiting the arrival of the ship, and therefore cannot, I am sorry to say, put you up; but in any other way in which we can be of assistance we shall be delighted to give any aid in our power. The girls say you are thinking of making this your head-quarters until you decide upon the district in which you mean to settle. In that case it will, of course, be much better for you to take a house, or part of a house, than to stop at an hotel; and if so it will be best to settle upon one at once, so as to go straight to it and avoid all the expenses of moving twice. It is probable that our friends, the Jacksons, may know of some suitable place, but if not I shall be glad to act as your guide in house-hunting."

Mr. Renshaw here came up and was introduced to Mr. Mitford, who repeated his offer.

"We shall be extremely glad," Mr. Renshaw replied; "though I really think that it is most unfair to take you even for a moment from your girls after an absence of five years."

"Oh, never mind that," Mr. Mitford said; "we shall land at once, and shall have all the morning to talk with them. If you and Mrs. Renshaw will come ashore at four o'clock in the afternoon my wife and I will meet you at the landing-place. Or if, as I suppose you would prefer to do, you like to land this morning and have a look at Wellington for yourselves, this is our address, and if you will call at two o'clock, or any time later, we shall be at your service. I would suggest, though, that if you do land early, you should first come round to us, because Jackson may know some place to suit you; and if not, I am sure that he will be glad to accompany you and act as your guide."

"I should not like to trouble—" Mr. Renshaw began.

"My dear sir, you do not know the country. Everyone is glad to help a new chum—that is the name for fresh arrivals—to the utmost of his power if he knows anything whatever about him, and no one thinks anything of trouble."

"In that case," Mr. Renshaw said smiling, "we will gladly avail ourselves of the offer. We should all have been contented if the voyage had lasted a month longer; but being here, we all, I suppose, want to get ashore as soon as possible. Therefore we shall probably call at your address in the course of an hour or so after you get there."

Wilfrid and Marion were indeed in such a hurry to get ashore that a very few minutes after the Mitfords left the side of the ship, the Renshaws took a boat and started for the shore. Most of the other passengers also landed.

"We shall go in alongside the quays in an hour's time," the captain said as they left; "so you must look for us there when you have done sight-seeing. We shall begin to get the baggage up at once for the benefit of those who are in a hurry to get away to the hotels; but I shall be glad for you all to make the ship your home until to-morrow."

For an hour after landing the Renshaws wandered about Wellington, which they found to be a pretty and well-built town with wide streets.

"Why, it is quite a large place!" Wilfrid exclaimed in surprise. "Different, of course, from towns at home, with more open spaces. I expected it would be much rougher than it is."

"It is the second town of the island, you see," Mr. Renshaw said; "and is an important place. Well, I am glad we did not cumber ourselves by bringing everything out from England, for there will be no difficulty in providing ourselves with everything we require here."

After wandering about for an hour they proceeded to the address Mr. Mitford had given them. It was a house of considerable size, standing in a pretty garden, a quarter of a mile from the business part of the town. They were warmly received by the Mitfords, and introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Jackson.

"Mr. Mitford has been telling me that you want to get a house, or part of a house, for a few weeks till you look about you and decide where you will settle down," Mr. Jackson said. "I am a land and estate agent, besides doing a little in other ways. We most of us turn our hands to anything that presents itself here. I have taken a holiday for this morning and left my clerk in charge, so I am quite at your service. You will find it difficult and expensive if you take a whole house, so I should advise you strongly to take lodgings. If you were a large party it would be different, but you only want a sitting-room and three bed-rooms."

"We could do with a sitting-room, a good-sized bed-room for my wife and myself, and a small one for my daughter," Mr. Renshaw said; "and take a bed-room out for a few nights for Wilfrid, as he will be starting with a friend to journey through the colony and look out for a piece of land to suit us."

"Then there will be no difficulty at all. You will find lodgings rather more expensive than in England. I do not mean more expensive than a fashionable watering-place, but certainly more expensive than in a town of the same kind at home. House rent is high here; but then, on the other hand, your living will cost you less than at home."

After an hour's search lodgings were found in a house at no great distance from that of Mr. Jackson. It was a small house, kept by the widow of the owner and captain of a small trading ship that had been lost a year previously. The ship had fortunately been insured, and the widow was able to keep on the house in which she lived, adding to her income by letting a portion of it to new arrivals who, like the Renshaws, intended to make a stay of some little time in Wellington before taking any steps to establish themselves as settlers.

"I think," Mr. Jackson said when this was settled, "you are doing wisely by letting your son here take a run through the colony. There is no greater mistake than for new-comers to be in a hurry. Settle in haste and repent at leisure is the rule. Mr. Mitford was saying that he hoped that you might settle down somewhere in his locality; but at any rate it will be best to look round first. There is plenty of land at present to be obtained anywhere, and there are many things to be considered in choosing a location. Carriage is of course a vital consideration, and a settler on a river has a great advantage over one who has to send his produce a long distance to market by waggon. Then, again, some people prefer taking up virgin land and clearing it for themselves, while others are ready to pay a higher sum to take possession of a holding where much of the hard work has already been done, and a house stands ready for occupation.

"At present no one, of course, with a wife and daughter would think of settling in the disturbed district, although farms can be bought there for next to nothing. The war is, I hope, nearly at an end, now that we have ten British regiments in the island. They have taken most of the enemy's pahs, though they have been a prodigious time about it, and we colonists are very discontented with the dilatory way in which the war has been carried on, and think that if things had been left to ourselves we could have stamped the rebellion out in half the time. The red-coats were much too slow; too heavily weighted and too cautious for this sort of work. The Maoris defend their pahs well, inflict a heavy loss upon their assailants, and when the latter at last make their attack and carry the works the Maoris manage to slip away, and the next heard of them is they have erected a fresh pah, and the whole thing has to be gone through again. However, we need not discuss that now. I take it that anyhow you would not think of settling down anywhere in the locality of the tribes that have been in revolt."

"Certainly not," Mr. Renshaw said. "I am a peaceful man, and if I could get a house and land for nothing and an income thrown into the bargain, I should refuse it if I could not go to bed without the fear that the place might be in flames before the morning."

"I am bound to say that the natives have as a whole behaved very well to the settlers; it would have been easy in a great number of cases for them to have cut them off had they chosen to do so. But they have fought fairly and well according to the rules of what we may call honourable warfare. The tribesmen are for the most part Christians, and have carried out Christian precepts.

"In one case, hearing that the troops assembling to attack one of their pahs were short of provisions, they sent down boat-loads of potatoes and other vegetables to them, saying that the Bible said, 'If thine enemy hunger feed him.' Still, in spite of instances of this kind, I should certainly say do not go near the disturbed districts, for one cannot assert that if hostilities continue they will always be carried on in that spirit. However, things are at present perfectly peaceable throughout the provinces of Wellington and Hawke Bay, and it may be hoped it may continue so. I have maps and plans of all the various districts, and before your son starts will give him all the information I possess as to the advantages and disadvantages of each locality, the nature of the soil, the price at which land can be purchased, and the reputation of the natives in the neighbourhood."

The next day the Renshaws landed after breakfast and took up their abode in the new lodgings. These were plainly but comfortably furnished, and after one of the trunks containing nick-nacks of all descriptions had been opened, and some of the contents distributed, the room assumed a comfortable home-like appearance. A lodging had been obtained close by for the two Grimstones. The young fellows were heartily glad to be on shore again, for life among the steerage passengers during a long voyage is dull and monotonous. Mr. Renshaw had looked after them during the voyage, and had supplied them from his own stores with many little comforts in the way of food, and with books to assist them to pass their time; still they were very glad the voyage was over.

When he now told them it was probable that a month or even more might pass after their arrival in the colony before he could settle on a piece of land, and that during that time they would remain at Wellington, they at once asked him to get them work of some kind if he could. "We should be learning something about the place, sir; and should probably get our food for our work, and should be costing you nothing, and we would much rather do that than loiter about town doing nothing."

Mr. Renshaw approved of their plan, and mentioned it to Mr. Jackson, who, on the very day after their landing, spoke to a settler who had come in from a farm some twenty miles in the interior.

"They are active and willing young fellows and don't want pay, only to be put up and fed until the man who has brought them out here with him gets hold of a farm."

"I shall be extremely glad to have them," the settler said. "This is a very busy time with us, and a couple of extra hands will be very useful. They will learn a good deal as to our ways here in the course of a month, and, as you say, it would be far better for them to be at work than to be loafing about the place doing nothing."

Accordingly, the next morning the two Grimstones went up country and set to work.

CHAPTER IX.

THE NEW ZEALAND WAR.

For a few days the greater part of the passengers who had arrived by the Flying Scud remained in Wellington. Mr. Atherton and the two Allens had put up at the same hotel. The latter intended to go out as shepherds or in any other capacity on a farm, for a few months at any rate, before investing in land. They had two or three letters of introduction to residents in Wellington, and ten days after the arrival of the ship they called at the Renshaws' to say good-bye, as they had arranged to go for some months with a settler up the country. They promised to write regularly to Wilfrid and tell him all about the part to which they were going.

"Mr. Atherton has promised to write to us," they said, "and tell us about the districts he visits with you, and if you and he discover anything particularly inviting we shall at any rate come and see you, if you will give us an invitation when you are settled, and look round there before buying land anywhere else. It would be very pleasant to be somewhere near you and him."

"We shall be very glad, indeed, to see you," Mrs. Renshaw said; "still more glad if you take up a piece of ground near us. Having friends near is a very great point in such a life as this, and it would be most agreeable having a sort of little colony of our own."

"We should have liked very much," James Allen said, "to say good-bye to the Miss Mitfords, but as we do not know their father and mother it might seem strange for us to call there."

"I do not think they are at all people to stand on ceremony," Mrs. Renshaw said; "but I will put on my bonnet and go round with you at once if you like."

This was accordingly done. Mr. Mitford had heard of the young men as forming part of the little group of passengers on board the Flying Scud, and gave them a hearty invitation to pay him a visit if they happened to be in his neighbourhood, and the next day they started for the farm on which they had engaged themselves. Two days later there was a general break up of the party, for Mr. and Mrs. Mitford started with their daughters in a steamer bound to Hawke Bay.

"Will you tell me, Mr. Jackson, what all the trouble in the north has been about," Wilfrid asked that evening, "for I have not been able to find out from the papers?"

"It is a complicated question, Wilfrid. When New Zealand was first colonized the natives were very friendly. The early settlers confidently pushed forward into the heart of native districts, bought tracts of land from the chiefs, and settled there. Government purchased large blocks of land, cut off by intervening native territory from the main settlements, and sold this land to settlers without a suspicion that they were thereby dooming them to ruin. The settlers were mostly small farmers, living in rough wooden houses scattered about the country, and surrounded by a few fields; the adjoining land is usually fern or forest held by the natives. They fenced their fields, and turned their cattle, horses, and sheep at large in the open country outside these fences, paying rent to the natives for the privilege of doing so.

"This led to innumerable quarrels. The native plantations of wheat, potatoes, or maize are seldom fenced in, and the cattle of the settlers sometimes committed much devastation among them; for the Maori fields were often situated at long distances from their villages, and the cattle might, therefore, be days in their patches before they were found out. On the other hand, the gaunt long-legged Maori pigs, which wander over the country picking up their own living, were constantly getting through the settlers' fences, rooting up their potatoes, and doing all sorts of damage.

"In these cases the settlers always had the worst of the quarrel. They either had no weapons, or, being isolated in the midst of the natives, dared not use them; while the Maoris, well armed and numerous, would come down waving their tomahawks and pointing their guns, and the settlers, however much in the right, were forced to give way. The natural result was that the colonists were continually smarting under a sense of wrong, while the Maoris grew insolent and contemptuous, and were filled with an overweening confidence in their own powers, the result of the patience and enforced submission of the settlers. The authority of the queen over the natives has always been a purely nominal one. There was indeed a treaty signed acknowledging her government, but as none of the chiefs put their name to this, and the men who signed were persons of inferior rank with no authority whatever to speak for the rest, the treaty was not worth the paper on which it was written.

"The Maoris from the first exhibited a great desire for education. They established numerous schools in their own districts and villages; in most cases accepted nominally if not really the Christian religion, and studied history with a good deal of intelligence. Some of them read that the Romans conquered England by making roads everywhere through the island, and the natives therefore determined that no roads should be constructed through their lands, and every attempt on the part of government to carry roads beyond the lands it had bought from them was resisted so firmly and angrily that the attempt had to be abandoned. The natives were well enough aware that behind the despised settlers was the power of England, and that if necessary a numerous army could be sent over, but they relied absolutely upon their almost impassable swamps, their rivers, forests, and mountains.

"Here they thought they could maintain themselves against any force that might be sent against them, and relying upon this they became more and more insolent and overbearing, and for some time before the outbreak in 1860 every one saw that sooner or later the storm would burst, and the matter have to be fought out until either we were driven from the island or the natives became thoroughly convinced of their inability to oppose us.

"At first the natives had sold their land willingly, but as the number of the European settlers increased they became jealous of them, and every obstacle was thrown in the way of land sales by the chiefs. Disputes were constantly arising owing to the fact that the absolute ownership of land was very ill defined, and perhaps a dozen or more persons professed to have claims of some sort or other on each piece of land, and had to be individually settled with before the sale could be effected. When as it seemed all was satisfactorily concluded, fresh claimants would arise, and disputes were therefore of constant occurrence, for there were no authorities outside the principal settlements to enforce obedience to the law.

"Even in Auckland itself the state of things was almost unbearable. Drunken Maoris would indulge in insolent and riotous behaviour in the street; for no native could be imprisoned without the risk of war, and with the colonists scattered about all over the country the risk was too great to be run. In addition to the want of any rule or authority to regulate the dealings of the natives with the English, there were constant troubles between the native tribes.

"Then began what is called the king movement. One of the tribes invited others to join in establishing a central authority, who would at once put a stop to these tribal feuds and enforce something like law and order, and they thought that having a king of their own would improve their condition—would prevent land from being sold to the whites and be a protection to the people at large, and enable them to hold their own against the settlers. Several of the tribes joined in this movement. Meetings were held in various parts in imitation of the colonial assemblies. The fruit of much deliberation was that a chief named Potatau, who was held in the highest esteem, not only by the tribes of Waikato, but throughout the whole island, as one of the greatest of their warriors and wisest of their chiefs, was chosen as king.

"The movement excited much apprehension in Auckland and the other settlements, for it was plain that if the Maoris were governed by one man and laid aside their mutual enmities they would become extremely formidable. At the great meeting that was held, the Bishop of New Zealand, the head of the Wesleyan body, and several other missionaries were present, and warned the Maoris of the dangers that would arise from the course they were taking.

"The warning was in vain, and Potatau was chosen king. Mr. Fenton, a government official, went on a tour among the natives. He found that there was still what was called a queen's party, but the king's party was very much the strongest. For two years, however, things went on somewhat as before, and it was not until 1860, when a quarrel arose over some land in the province of Taranaki, that troubles fairly began. In this district a chief named Wiremu-Kingi had established a sort of land league, and given notice to the governor that he would not permit any more land to be sold in the district. A native named Teira, who owned some land at Waiteira, offered it for sale to the government. After examining his title, and finding that it was a valid one, the land was purchased.

"In the spring of 1860 the governor tried to take possession. Wiremu-Kingi forcibly resisted, the troops were called out, and war began. Wiremu-Kingi had unquestionably certain rights on Teira's land, for he and his tribe were amicably settled upon it, had built houses, and were making plantations; but of these facts the government were ignorant when they bought the land. Wiremu-Kingi at once joined the king movement, from which he had previously stood aloof. A meeting was held at the Waikato. Chief Wiremu-Kingi and Mr. M'Lean, the native secretary, both addressed the meeting, and Potatau and many of the chiefs were of opinion that the English had acted fairly in the case. Many of the younger chiefs, however, took the part of the Taranaki natives, and marched away and joined them.

"Unfortunately, in the first fight that took place, our troops were driven back in an attack upon a pah, and the news of this success so fired the minds of all the fighting men of the Waikato, and neighbouring tribes, that they flocked down to Taranaki and joined in plundering the deserted homes of the settlers, and in the attacks upon the troops. Potatau and his council did all they could to stop their men from going, but the desire to distinguish themselves and to take part in the victories over the Pakehas, which is what the natives call the whites, were too strong for them. In the midst of all this turmoil Potatau died, and his son Matu-Taera was made king.

"In the fighting that went on in Taranaki discipline and training soon began to make themselves felt. The troops in the colony were largely reinforced, and pah after pah were captured. The war went on. But though English regiments with a strong force of artillery were engaged in it, it cannot be said that the natives have been conquered, and General Cameron, who came out and assumed the command, found the task before him a very difficult one.

"There was for a time a pause in hostilities when Sir George Grey came out as governor in the place of Governor Brown, but the natives recommenced hostilities by a treacherous massacre near New Plymouth, and fighting began again at once.

"The native pah near the Katikara river was attacked by a column of infantry with artillery, and shelled by the guns of a ship of war, and the Maoris were driven out of a position that they believed impregnable. The Waikatos now rose and murdered and plundered many of the settlers, and a force marched for the first time into their country, carried a formidable pah at Koheroa, and, although unprovided with artillery, defeated the Maoris in a fight in the thick bush. The very formidable position at Merimeri, which lay surrounded by swamps near the Waikato river, was next captured, although held by eleven hundred Maoris, led by their great chief Wiremu-Tamehana, called by the missionaries William Thompson.

"The next attack was upon a strongly-fortified position at Rangiriri, lying between the Waikato river and Waikare lake. This was successful, and the nation were next thrashed at Rangiawhia, at Kaitake, on the 25th of last March. Thus, you see, in almost all of these fights we succeeded in capturing the enemy's pah or in defeating them if they fought in the open. Unfortunately, although these engagements showed the natives that in fair fighting they were no match for our troops, they have done little more. When their pahs were captured they almost invariably managed to make their way through the dense bush, and it can scarcely be said that we do more than hold the ground occupied by our soldiers. And so matters still go on. The fighting has been confined to the Taranaki and Auckland provinces, and we may hope that it will go no further."

"Well, it is quite evident," Mr. Renshaw said, "that neither the Waikato country nor Taranaki are fit places for quiet people to settle at the present time, and I suppose the northern part of Wellington is not much better?"

"No, I cannot say it is," Mr. Jackson said. "The Wanganui tribe on the river of that name are in alliance with the Taranaki people, and have joined them in fighting against us, and I believe that General Cameron will shortly undertake a campaign against them. I should strongly advise you to turn your attention to the eastern side of this province, or to the province of Hawke Bay, higher up, where they have had no trouble whatever, and where, as you know, our friends the Mitfords are settled."

"What is this that I have heard about a new religion that has been started among the Maoris?"

"There is but little known about it, and if it were not that should this religion spread it will add to our difficulties, no one would think anything about it one way or the other. There was a fellow named Te Ua, who had always been looked upon as a harmless lunatic. No doubt he is a lunatic still, though whether he will be harmless remains to be seen. However, he some little time ago gave out that the archangel Michael, the angel Gabriel, and hosts of minor spirits visited him and gave him permission to preach a new religion, and bestowed on him great power.

"The religion was to be called Pai Marire, which interpreted literally means good and peaceful; and it is also called Hau-Hau, the meaning of which is obscure, but it is a special word of power that Te Ua professes to have specially received from the angel Gabriel. As far as we have been able to learn the Hau-Haus have no special belief or creed, except that their leader has a divine mission, and that all he says is to be implicitly obeyed. Certainly the religion has spread quickly among the tribes, and has latterly taken the form of hostility to us. Still, we may hope that it will soon die out. It is said that Te Ua has told his followers that they are invulnerable, but if they try conclusions with us they will very speedily find that he has deceived them, and are not likely to continue their belief in him."

"Then the colonists themselves, Mr. Jackson, have taken but little share in the fighting so far?"

"Oh, yes, they have. There have been several corps of Rangers which have done capital service. The corps led by Majors Atkinson, Von Tempsky, and M'Donnell have done great service, and are far more dreaded by the natives than are the slow-moving regular troops. They fight the natives in their own manner—make raids into their country and attack their positions at night, and so much are they dreaded that the natives in villages in their vicinity are in the habit of leaving their huts at night and sleeping in the bush lest they should be surprised by their active enemy. The general opinion among us colonists is that ten companies like Von Tempsky's would do a great deal more than ten British regiments towards bringing the matter to a conclusion.

"In the first place, the officers and troops of the regular army cannot bring themselves to regard the natives with the respect they deserve as foes. Their movements are hampered by the necessity of a complicated system of transport. Their operations, accompanied as they are by artillery and a waggon train, are slow in the extreme, and do what they will the natives always slip through their hands. The irregular corps, on the other hand, thoroughly appreciate the activity and bravery of the Maoris. They have lived among them, and know their customs and ways. They have suffered from the arrogance and insolence of the natives before the outbreak of the war, and most of them have been ruined by the destruction of their farms and the loss of years of patient labour. Thus they fight with a personal feeling of enmity against their foes, and neither fatigue nor danger is considered by them if there is a chance of inflicting a blow upon their enemy. I am convinced that at last the imperial government will be so disgusted at the failure of the troops to bring the war to a conclusion, and at the great expense and loss of life entailed by the operations, that they will recall the regulars and leave the colonists to manage the affair themselves, in which case I have no fear whatever as to their bringing it to a prompt conclusion. Looking at the matter from a business point of view, there is no doubt, Mr. Renshaw, that those who, like yourself, come out at the present time will benefit considerably. You will get land at a quarter the price you would have had to pay for it had it not been for these troubles, and as soon as the war is over the tide of emigration will set in again more strongly than before, and land will go to prices far exceeding those that ruled before the outbreak began."

Upon the following morning Mr. Atherton and Wilfrid embarked in the schooner. They had been furnished by Mr. Jackson with a number of letters of introduction to settlers in every district they were to visit. "These will really only be of use to you in the small towns," he said, "for in the country districts every house is open, and you have generally only to ride up to a door, put up your horses, and walk in, and you are almost sure to meet with a hearty welcome. Still, as you are new-comers, and have not rubbed off your old country ideas, it will be more pleasant for you to take letters. At the ports, such as they are, you may really find them useful, for you will not find any inns. You can strike out anywhere into the back country without the least fear of being inconvenienced by natives."

The two friends spent a pleasant fortnight touching at the settlements, situated for the most part at the mouths of the rivers, and spending the time the vessel remained there in short excursions into the interior. They were most pleased with the Wairarapa Valley, running up from Palliser Bay; but this being near Wellington the land was all taken up, and there were many flourishing villages and small towns.

"This is very nice," Wilfrid said, "but the price of land is far too high for us, and we might almost as well have taken to farming in England."

The eastern coast of the province was dotted by little settlements, lying for the most part at the mouths of small rivers, and several of these offered favourable facilities for settlement. Passing on, they found that the coast was bolder along the province of Hawke Bay. They stopped at Clive, at the mouth of the bay, for a day or two, and went up the Tukataki river in a canoe to the town of Waipawa. But here they found the farms thick and land comparatively expensive. They left the schooner at Napier, the chief town of the province, and after making several excursions here went up in a coasting craft to the mouth of the river Mohaka, which runs into the sea a short distance to the south of the boundary line between Hawke Bay and the province of Auckland. A few miles up this river was the farm of Mr. Mitford. Hiring a boat they proceeded up the river, and landed in front of the comfortable-looking farmhouse of the settler.

Mr. Mitford, seeing strangers approaching, at once came down to meet them, and received them with the greatest cordiality as soon as he saw who they were.

"I am heartily glad to see you!" he exclaimed, "and the girls will be delighted. They have been wondering ever since we got here when you would arrive. You have not, I hope, fixed upon any land yet, for they have set their heart upon your settling down as our neighbours. This is as pretty a valley as there is in the island, and you will have no difficulty in getting land at the lowest government price. There being no settlement of any size at the mouth of the river has deterred emigrants from coming here to search for land. But we can talk about that afterwards. Come straight up to the house. I will send down one of my native boys to bring up your baggage."

They spent a very pleasant evening at the farmhouse. Mr. Mitford owned a considerable extent of land, and was doing very well. He reared cattle and horses, which he sent down for sale to Wellington. The house was large and comfortable, and bore signs of the prosperity of its owner. The girls were delighted at the place. They had been left in care of relatives at home when their father and mother came out six years before to settle in New Zealand, and everything was as new to them as to Wilfrid. They had taken to riding as soon as they arrived, and had already made excursions far up the valley with their father.

"We were at a place yesterday, Wilfrid," the eldest girl said, "that we agreed would suit your father admirably. It is about ten miles up the river. It was taken up only last year, father says, by a young Englishman, who was going to make a home for someone he was engaged to in England. A few days since he was killed by a tree he was cutting down falling upon him. He lived twenty-four hours after the accident, and father rode out to him when he heard of it. He directed him to sell the land for whatever it would fetch, and to send the money over to England. There are two hundred acres on the river and a comfortable log hut, which could of course be enlarged. He had about fifteen acres cleared and cultivated. The scenery is beautiful, much prettier than it is here, with lots of lovely tree-ferns; and there are many open patches, so that more land can be cleared for cultivation easily. Mabel and I agreed when we rode over there two days ago that it would be just the place for you."

"It sounds first-rate," Wilfrid said; "just the sort of place that will suit us."

"But how about me, Miss Mitford?" Mr. Atherton asked. "Have you had my interest at heart as well as those of Wilfrid and his people?"

"You can take up the next bit of land above it," Mr. Mitford said. "Langston's was the last settlement on the river, so you can take up any piece of land beyond it at the government upset price, and do as much fishing and shooting as you like, for I hear from my daughters that you are not thinking of permanently settling here, but are only a bird of passage. Anyhow, it would not be a bad investment for you to buy a considerable acreage, for as soon as the troubles are over there is sure to be a rush of emigration; and there are very few places now where land is to be had on a navigable river, so that when you are tired of the life you will be able to sell out at considerable profit."

"It sounds tempting, Mr. Mitford, and I will certainly have a look at the ground. How much would this piece of land be of Mr. Langston's?"

"The poor fellow told me to take anything that I could get. He said he knew that at present it was very difficult to sell land, as no new settlers were coming out, and that he should be very glad if I get what he gave for it, which was ten shillings an acre, and to throw in the improvements he had made; so that a hundred pounds would buy it all. I really don't think that Mr. Renshaw could do better if he looked all through the island. With a cow or two, a pen of pigs, and a score or two of fowls, he would practically be able to live on his land from the hour he settled there."

Wilfrid was greatly pleased at the idea. He knew that his father and mother had still eight hundred pounds untouched; two hundred pounds, together with the proceeds of his mother's trinkets and jewels, and the sale of the ponies and pony carriage, which had been her own property, having sufficed to pay for the passage of themselves and their two labourers, and for all expenses up to the time of their arrival at Wellington. "If we could get another piece of two hundred acres adjoining it at the same price, I think my father would like to take it," he said; "it would give more room for horses and cattle to graze. Of course we should not want it at first; but if as we got on we wanted more land, and had neighbours all round us and could not get it, it would be a nuisance."

"I agree with you," Mr. Mitford said. "Two hundred acres is more than you want if you are going to put it under the plough; it is not enough if you are going to raise cattle and horses. I should certainly recommend you to take up another two hundred. The next land on this side is still vacant. Poor Langston chose the spot because it happened to be particularly pretty, with an open glade down to the river, but the land for fully two miles on this side is unoccupied. You can get it at ten shillings an acre at present. I will see about it for you if you make up your mind after seeing Langston's place, to take it."

"Of course I cannot settle it by myself, sir, not absolutely. I can only recommend it to my father as the best place that I have seen. If it is as you describe it they will be delighted."

"Well, we will ride over to-morrow and have a look at it. The only possible objection I have is loneliness; but that will improve in time; the natives here are perfectly peaceful, and we have never had the slightest trouble with them."

"We are a good large party to begin with, you see," Wilfrid said. "Having the two men with us will take away the feeling of loneliness, especially if Mr. Atherton decides upon taking the piece of land next to us. Then there are the two Allens who came out with us. I promised to write and tell them if I found any nice place; and they said particularly that they wanted ground on a river if they could get it, as they are fond of boating and fishing, and fancied that if there were other farms round that they could, until their own place paid, help to keep themselves by taking their neighbours' crops down to market."

"Yes, it might pay if they got a large flat-boat capable of carrying cargo; but as far as light goods, letters, and groceries from town are concerned, the Indians could do it cheaper in their canoes. However, at present there is no market for them to come down to. I keep what I call a grocery store for the benefit of the two or three score of settlers there are on the river. I do not make any profit out of the matter, but each season get a hogshead or two of sugar, a couple of tons of flour, some barrels of molasses, a few chests of tea, and an assortment of odds and ends, such as pickles, &c., with a certain amount of rum and whisky, and sell them at the price they stand me in at. I do not know what they would do without it here. I only open the store on the first Monday of each month, and they then lay in what stores they require, so it gives me very little trouble. I generally take produce in return. My bills run on until they get up to the value of something a customer wants to sell—a horse, or two or three dozen sheep. That suits me just as well as money, as I send a cargo off to Wellington every two or three months.

"In time no doubt a settlement will spring up somewhere near the mouth of the river, and we shall have a trader or two establishing themselves there; but at present I am the purveyor of the district, and manage most of the business of the settlers in the way of buying and selling at Wellington. So, you see, if you establish yourself here you will have no choice but to appoint me your grocer."

Wilfrid laughed. "It will be a great advantage to us to be able to get our things so close at hand. I was wondering how people did in the back settlements."

"They generally send their drays every two or three months down to the nearest store, which may, of course, be fifty miles off, or even more. Here, fortunately, you will not be obliged at first to have a dray, but can send any produce you have to sell down by water, which is a far cheaper and more convenient mode of carriage. You will not have much to send for some time, so that will not trouble you at present."

"Oh, no. We shall be quite content if we can live on the produce of our farm for the next year or two," Wilfrid laughed.

"It is," Mr. Mitford said, "an immense advantage to settlers when they have sufficient funds to carry them on for the first two or three years, because in that case they gain the natural increase of their animals instead of having to sell them off to pay their way. It is wonderful how a flock of sheep or a herd of cattle will increase if there is no selling. You may take it that under favourable circumstances a herd of cattle will nearly double itself every two years, allowing, of course, a large proportion of the bull calves to be sold off as soon as they arrive at maturity. Sheep will increase even faster. If you can do without selling, you will be surprised, if you start with say fifty sheep or ten cows, in how short a time you will have as many animals as your land will carry."

"But what are we to do then, sir?"

"Well, you will then, providing the country has not in the meantime become too thickly settled, pay some small sum to the natives for the right of grazing your cattle on their unoccupied ground. They cultivate a mere fraction of the land. In this way you can keep vastly larger herds than your own ground could carry. However, it is time to be turning in for the night. To-morrow we will start the first thing after breakfast to inspect Langston's land."

CHAPTER X.

THE GLADE.

When the party assembled at breakfast the next morning, Mr. Atherton's first question was:

"Is there such a thing as a boat or a good-sized canoe to be had, Mr. Mitford? If you had an elephant here I might manage, but as I suppose you do not keep such an animal in your stud I own that I should greatly prefer going by water to running the risk of breaking a horse's back and my own neck. If such a thing cannot be obtained I will get you, if you will, to let me have a native as guide, and I will walk, taking with me some small stock of provisions. I can sleep at this hut of Langston's, for I say frankly that I should not care about doing the distance there and back in one day."

"I have a boat," Mr. Mitford said smiling, "and you shall have a couple of natives to paddle you up. I will give orders for them to be ready directly after breakfast. You will scarcely be there as soon as we are, but you will be there long before we leave. Of course we shall spend some time in going over the ground, and we shall take a boy with us with a luncheon basket, so you will find refreshment awaiting you when you get there."

"That will suit me admirably." Mr. Atherton said. "A boating excursion up an unknown river is just the thing I like—that is, when the boat is a reasonable size. I was once fool enough on the Amazon to allow myself to be persuaded that a canoe at most two feet wide would carry me, and the tortures I suffered during that expedition, wedged in the bottom of that canoe, and holding on to the sides, I shall never forget. The rascally Indians made matters worse by occasionally giving sly lurches to the boat, and being within an ace of capsizing her. I had two days of that work before I got to a village where I could obtain a craft of reasonable size, and I should think I must have lost two stone in weight during the time. You think that that was rather an advantage I can see, Miss Mitford," he broke off, seeing a smile upon the girl's face. "Well, yes, I could spare that and more, but I should prefer that it was abstracted by other means than that of agony of mind; besides, these improvements are not permanent."

After a hearty breakfast the party prepared for their start. Mrs. Mitford had already said that she should not accompany them, the distance being longer than she cared to ride; and four horses were therefore brought round. Mr. Atherton was first seen fairly on his way in a good-sized boat, paddled by two powerful Maoris. Mr. Mitford, his daughters, and Wilfrid then mounted; the lad had already been asked if he was accustomed to riding.

"Not lately," he replied, "but I used to have a pony and rode a good deal when I was a small boy, and I daresay I can stick on."

Wilfrid was delighted with his ride through the forest. In his other trips ashore their way had led through an open country with low scrub bush, and this was his first experience of a New Zealand forest. Ferns were growing everywhere. The tree-ferns, coated with scales, rose from thirty to forty feet in the air. Hymenophylla and polypodia, in extraordinary variety, covered the trunks of the forest trees with luxuriant growth. Smaller ferns grew between the branches and twigs, and a thick growth of ferns of many species extended everywhere over the ground.

The trees were for the most part pines of different varieties, but differing so widely in appearance from those Wilfrid had seen in England, that had not Mr. Mitford assured him that they were really pines he would never have guessed they belonged to that family. Mr. Mitford gave him the native names of many of them. The totara matai were among the largest and most beautiful. The rimu was distinguished by its hanging leaves and branches, the tanekaha by its parsley-shaped leaves. Among them towered up the poplar-shaped rewarewa and the hinau, whose fruit Mr. Mitford said was the favourite food of the parrots.

Among the great forest trees were several belonging to the families of the myrtles and laurels, especially the rata, whose trunk often measured forty feet in circumference, and on whose crown were branches of scarlet blossoms. But it was to the ferns, the orchids, and the innumerable creepers, which covered the ground with a natural netting, coiled round every stem, and entwined themselves among the topmost branches, that the forest owed its peculiar features. Outside the narrow cleared track along which they were riding it would have been impossible for a man to make his way unless with the assistance of knife and hatchet, especially as some of the climbers were completely covered with thorns.

And yet, although so very beautiful, the appearance of the forest was sombre and melancholy. A great proportion of the plants of New Zealand bear no flowers, and except high up among some of the tree-tops no gay blossoms or colour of any kind meet the eye to relieve the monotony of the verdure. A deep silence reigned. Wilfrid did not see a butterfly during his ride, or hear the song or even the chirp of a single bird. It was a wilderness of tangled green, unrelieved by life or colour. Mr. Mitford could give him the names of only a few of the principal trees; and seeing the infinite variety of the foliage around him, Wilfrid no longer wondered Mr. Atherton should have made so long a journey in order to study the botany of the island, which is unique, for although many of the trees and shrubs can be found elsewhere, great numbers are entirely peculiar to the island.

"Are there any snakes?" Wilfrid asked.

"No; you can wander about without fear. There is only one poisonous creature in New Zealand, and that is found north of the port of Tauranga, forty or fifty miles from here. They say it exists only there and round Potaki, near Cook's Strait. It is a small black spider, with a red stripe on its back. The natives all say that its bite is poisonous. It will not, they say, cause death to a healthy person, though it will make him very ill; but there are instances of sickly persons being killed by it. Anyhow, the natives dread it very much. However, as the beast is confined to two small localities, you need not trouble about it. The thorns are the only enemies you have to dread as you make your way through the forest."

"That is a comfort, anyhow," Wilfrid said; "it would be a great nuisance to have to be always on the watch against snakes."

The road they were traversing had been cleared of trees from one settler's holding to another, and they stopped for a few minutes at three or four of the farmhouses. Some of these showed signs of comfort and prosperity, while one or two were mere log cabins.

"I suppose the people here have lately arrived?" Wilfrid remarked as they rode by one of these without stopping.

"They have been here upwards of two years," Mr. Mitford replied; "but the place is not likely to improve were they to be here another ten. They are a thriftless lazy lot, content to raise just sufficient for their actual wants and to pay for whisky. These are the sort of people who bring discredit on the colony by writing home declaring that there is no getting on here, and that a settler's life is worse than a dog's.

"People who come out with an idea that a colony is an easy place to get a living in are completely mistaken. For a man to succeed he must work harder and live harder here than he would do at home. He is up with the sun, and works until it is too dark to work longer. If he employs men he must himself set an example to them. Men will work here for a master who works himself, but one who thinks that he has only to pay his hands and can spend his time in riding about the country making visits, or in sitting quietly by his fire, will find that his hands will soon be as lazy as he is himself. Then the living here is rougher than it is at home for one in the same condition of life. The fare is necessarily monotonous. In hot weather meat will not keep more than a day or two, and a settler cannot afford to kill a sheep every day; therefore he has to depend either upon bacon or tinned meat, and I can tell you that a continuance of such fare palls upon the appetite, and one's meals cease to be a pleasure. But the curse of the country, as of all our colonies, is whisky. I do think the monotony of the food has something to do with it, and that if men could but get greater variety in their fare they would not have the same craving for drink. It is the ruin of thousands. A young fellow who lands here and determines to work hard and to abstain from liquors—I do not mean totally abstain, though if he has any inclination at all towards drink the only safety is total abstinence—is sure to get on and make his way, while the man who gives way to drink is equally certain to remain at the bottom of the tree. Now we are just passing the boundary of the holding you have come to see. You see that piece of bark slashed off the trunk of that tree? That is what we call a blaze, and marks the line of the boundary."

After riding a few minutes further the trees opened, and they found themselves in a glade sloping down to the river. A few acres of land had been ploughed up and put under cultivation. Close by stood the hut, and beyond a grassy sward, broken by a few large trees, stretched down to the river.

"That's the place," Mr. Mitford said, "and a very pretty one it is. Poor young Langston chose his farm specially for that bit of scenery."

"It is pretty," Wilfrid agreed; "I am sure my father and mother will be delighted with it. As you said, it is just like a piece of park land at home."

The hut was strongly built of logs. It was about thirty feet long by twenty wide, and was divided into two rooms; the one furnished as a kitchen and living-room, the other opening from it as a bed-room.

"There is not much furniture in it," Mr. Mitford said; "but what there is is strong and serviceable, and is a good deal better than the generality of things you will find in a new settler's hut. He was getting the things in gradually as he could afford them, so as to have it really comfortably furnished by the time she came out to join him. Of course the place will not be large enough for your party, but you can easily add to it; and at any rate it is vastly better coming to a shanty like this than arriving upon virgin ground and having everything to do."

"I think it is capital," Wilfrid said.

"Now we will take a ride over the ground, and I will show you what that is like. Of course it will give you more trouble clearing away the forest than it would do if you settled upon land without trees upon it. But forest land is generally the best when it is cleared; and I think that to people like your father and mother land like this is much preferable, as in making the clearings, clumps and belts of trees can be left, giving a home-like appearance to the place. Of course upon bare land you can plant trees, but it is a long time before these grow to a sufficient size to give a character to a homestead. Besides, as I told you, there are already several other natural clearings upon the ground, enough to afford grass for quite as many animals as you will probably start with."

After an hour's ride over the holding and the lands adjoining it, which Mr. Mitford advised should be also taken up, they returned to the hut. A shout greeted them as they arrived, and they saw Mr. Atherton walking up from the river towards the hut.

"A charming site for a mansion," he said as they rode up. "Mr. Mitford, I think I shall make you a bid for this on my own account, and so cut out my young friend Wilfrid."

"I am afraid you are too late," Mr. Mitford laughed. "I have already agreed to give him the option of it, keeping it open until we can receive a reply from his father."

"I call that too bad," Mr. Atherton grumbled. "However, I suppose I must move on farther. But really this seems a charming place, and I am sure Mrs. Renshaw will be delighted with it. Why, there must be thirty acres of natural clearing here?"

"About that," Mr. Mitford replied; "and there are two or three other patches which amount to about as much more. The other hundred and forty are bush and forest. The next lot has also some patches of open land, so that altogether out of the four hundred acres there must be about a hundred clear of bush."

"And how about the next lot, Mr. Mitford?"

"I fancy that there is about the same proportion of open land. I have only once been up the river higher than this, but if I remember right there is a sort of low bluff rising forty or fifty feet above the river which would form a capital site for a hut."

"I will set about the work of exploration this afternoon," Mr. Atherton said, "and if the next lot is anything like this I shall be very well contented to settle down upon it for a bit. I have always had a fancy for a sort of Robinson Crusoe life, and I think I can get it here, tempered by the change of an occasional visit to our friends when I get tired of my own company."

The men had by this time brought up the basket of provisions, and the two girls were spreading a cloth on the grass in the shade of a tree at a short distance from the hut, for all agreed that they would rather take their lunch there than in the abode so lately tenanted by young Langston. After the meal was over the party mounted their horses and rode back. One of the natives who had come up from the boat remained with Mr. Atherton, the others started back in the boat, as Mr. Atherton declared himself to be perfectly capable of making the journey on foot when he had finished his explorations. He returned two days later, and said he was quite satisfied with the proposed site for his hut and with the ground and forest.

"I regard myself as only a temporary inhabitant," he said, "and shall be well content if, when I am ready for another move, I can get as much for the ground as I gave for it. In that way I shall have lived rent free and shall have had my enjoyment for nothing, and, I have no doubt, a pleasant time to look back upon."

"Do you never mean to settle down, Mr. Atherton?" Mrs. Mitford asked.

WILFRID AND THE GRIMSTONES FIND IT HARD WORK

Page 197

"In the dim future I may do so," he replied. "I have been wandering ever since I left college, some fifteen years ago. I return to London periodically, spend a few weeks and occasionally a few months there, enjoy the comforts of good living and club-life for a bit; then the wandering fit seizes me and I am off again. Nature altogether made a mistake in my case. I ought to have been a thin wiry sort of man, and in that case I have no doubt I should have distinguished myself as an African explorer or something of that sort. Unfortunately she placed my restless spirit in an almost immovable frame of flesh, and the consequence is the circle of my wandering is to a certain extent limited."

"You make yourself out to be much stouter than you are, Mr. Atherton. Of course you are stout, but not altogether out of proportion to your height and width of shoulders. I think you put it on a good deal as an excuse for laziness."

Mr. Atherton laughed. "Perhaps you are right, Mrs. Mitford, though my weight is really a great drawback to my carrying out my views in regard to travel. You see, I am practically debarred from travelling in countries where the only means of locomotion is riding on horses. I could not find animals in any foreign country that would carry me for any distances. I might in England, I grant, find a weight-carrying cob capable of conveying twenty stone along a good road, but I might search all Asia in vain for such a horse, while as for Africa, it would take a dozen natives to carry me in a hammock. No, I suppose I shall go on wandering pretty nearly to the end of the chapter, and shall then settle down in quiet lodgings somewhere in the region of Pall Mall."

Upon the day after his return from the inspection of the farm Wilfrid wrote home to his father describing the location, and saying that he thought it was the very thing to suit them. It would be a fortnight before an answer could be received, and during that time he set to work at Mr. Mitford's place to acquire as much knowledge as possible of the methods of farming in the colony. The answer arrived in due course, and with it came the two Grimstones. Wilfrid had suggested in his letter that if his father decided to take the farm the two men should be sent up at once to assist in adding to the hut and in preparing for their coming, and that they should follow a fortnight later. Mrs. Mitford also wrote, offering them a warm invitation to stay for a time with her until their own place should be ready for their occupation.

Mr. Mitford had an inventory of the furniture of the hut, and this was also sent, in order that such further furniture as was needed might be purchased at Wellington. As soon as the letter was received, inclosing, as it did, a cheque for a hundred pounds, Wilfrid went over with the two Grimstones and took possession. Mr. Mitford, who was the magistrate and land commissioner for the district, drew up the papers of application for the plot of two hundred acres adjoining the farm, and sent it to Wellington for Mr. Renshaw's signature, and said that in the meantime Wilfrid could consider the land as belonging to them, as it would be theirs as soon as the necessary formalities were completed and the money paid.

When Wilfrid started, two natives, whom Mr. Mitford had hired for him, accompanied him, and he also lent him the services of one of his own men, who was a handy carpenter. The Grimstones were delighted with the site of their new home.

"Why, it is like a bit of England, Master Wilfrid! That might very well be the Thames there, and this some gentleman's place near Reading; only the trees are different. When we get up a nice house here, with a garden round it, it will be like home again."

During the voyage the Renshaws had amused themselves by drawing a plan of their proposed house, and although this had to be somewhat modified by the existence of the hut, Wilfrid determined to adhere to it as much as possible. The present kitchen should be the kitchen of the new house, and the room leading from it should be allotted to the Grimstones. Adjoining the kitchen he marked out the plan of the house. It was to consist of a sitting-room twenty feet square; beyond this was Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw's bed-room; while behind it were two rooms, each ten feet square, for himself and Marion. The roof was to project four feet in front of the sitting-room, so as to form a verandah there.

A boat-load of supplies was sent up from Mr. Mitford's stores. These consisted of flour, sugar, tea, molasses, and bacon, together with half a sheep. It was arranged that while the building was going on Wilfrid and the two Grimstones should occupy the bed-room, and that the natives should sleep in the kitchen. The Grimstones had brought with them the bedding and blankets with which they had provided themselves on board ship, while Wilfrid took possession of the bed formerly occupied by the young settler. Mr. Mitford himself came over next morning and gave general instructions as to the best way of setting about the building of the house. He had already advised that it should be of the class known as log-huts.

"They are much cooler," he said, "in the heat of summer than frame-huts, and have the advantage that in the very improbable event of troubles with the natives they are much more defensible. If you like, afterwards, you can easily face them outside and in with match-board and make them as snug as you like; but, to begin with, I should certainly say build with logs. My boy will tell you which trees you had better cut down for the work. It will take you a week to fell, lop, and roughly square them, and this day week I will send over a team of bullocks with a native to drag them up to the spot."

The work was begun at once. Half a dozen axes, some adzes, and other tools had been brought up with the supplies from the stores, and the work of felling commenced.

Wilfrid would not have any trees touched near the hut.

"There are just enough trees about here," he said, "and it would be an awful pity to cut them down merely to save a little labour in hauling. It will not make any great difference whether we have the team for a week or a fortnight."

Wilfrid and the two young Englishmen found chopping very hard work at first, and were perfectly astounded at the rapidity with which the Maoris brought the trees down, each of them felling some eight or ten before the new hands had managed to bring one to the ground.

"I would not have believed it if I had not seen it," Bob, the elder of the two brothers, exclaimed as he stood breathless with the perspiration streaming from his forehead, "that these black chaps could have beaten Englishmen like that! Half a dozen strokes and down topples the tree, while I goes chop, chop, chop, and don't seem to get any nearer to it."

"It will come in time," Wilfrid said. "I suppose there is a knack in it, like everything else. It looks easy enough, but it is not easy if you don't know how to do it. It is like rowing; it looks the easiest thing in the world until you try, and then you find that it is not easy at all."

When work was done for the day Wilfrid and the Grimstones could scarcely walk back to the hut. Their backs felt as if they were broken, their arms and shoulders ached intolerably, their hands smarted as if on fire; while the Maoris, who had each achieved ten times the result, were as brisk and fresh as they were at starting. One of them had left work an hour before the others, and by the time they reached the hut the flat cakes of flour and water known as dampers had been cooked, and a large piece of mutton was frizzling over the fire. Wilfrid and his companions were almost too tired to eat, but they enjoyed the tea, although they missed the milk to which they were accustomed. They were astonished at the Maoris' appetite, the three natives devouring an amount of meat which would have lasted the others for a week.

"No wonder they work well when they can put away such a lot of food as that," Bob Grimstone said, after watching them for some time in silent astonishment. "Bill and me was always considered as being pretty good feeders, but one of these chaps would eat twice as much as the two of us. I should say, Mr. Wilfrid, that in future your best plan will be to let these chaps board themselves. Why, it would be dear to have them without pay if you had to feed them!"

"Mutton is cheap out here," Wilfrid said. "You can get five or six pounds for the price which one would cost you at home; but still, I do not suppose they give them as much meat as they can eat every day. I must ask Mr. Mitford about it."

He afterwards learned that the natives received rations of flour and molasses and tobacco, and that only occasionally salt pork or fresh meat were issued to them. But Mr. Mitford advised that Wilfrid should, as long as they were at this work, let them feed with the men.

"You will get a good deal more out of them if they are well fed and in good humour. When your people arrive the natives will of course have a shanty of their own at some distance from your house, and then you will put things on regular footing and serve out their rations to them weekly. I will give you the scale usually adopted in the colony."

The second day Wilfrid and the Grimstones were so stiff that they could at first scarcely raise their axes. This gradually wore off, and at the end of three or four days they found that they could get through a far greater amount than at first with much less fatigue to themselves; but even on the last day of the week they could do little more than a third of the amount performed by the natives. By this time an ample supply of trees had been felled. The trunks had been cut into suitable lengths and roughly squared. The bullocks arrived from Mr. Mitford's, and as soon as the first logs were brought up to the house the work of building was commenced. The Maori carpenter now took the lead, and under his instructions the walls of the house rose rapidly. The logs were mortised into each other at the corners; openings were left for the doors and windows. These were obtained from Mr. Mitford's store, as they were constantly required by settlers.

At a distance of four feet in front of the house holes were dug and poles erected, and to these the framework of the roof was extended. This point was reached ten days after the commencement of the building, and the same evening a native arrived from Mr. Mitford's with a message that the party from Wellington had arrived there and would come over the next day. He also brought a letter to Wilfrid from the Allens, in answer to one he had written them soon after his arrival, saying that they were so pleased with his description of the district they should come down at once, and, if it turned out as he described it, take up a tract of land in his neighbourhood.

While Wilfrid had been at work he had seen Mr. Atherton several times, as that gentleman had, upon the very day after his first trip up the river, filled up the necessary papers, hired half a dozen natives, and started up the river in a boat freighted with stores to his new location. Wilfrid had not had time to go over to see him there, but he had several times sauntered over from his place, which was half a mile distant, after the day's work was over. He had got up his hut before Wilfrid fairly got to work.

It was, he said, a very modest shanty with but one room, which would serve for all purposes; his cooking being done by a native, for whom he had erected a small shelter twenty yards away from his own.

"I have not quite shaken down yet," he said, "and do not press you to come over to see me until I have got everything into order. I am sure you feel thankful to me that I do not expect you to be tramping over to see me after your long day's work here. By the time your people arrive I shall have everything in order. I am expecting the things I have written for and my own heavy baggage in a few days from Wellington."

Glad as he was to hear that his father and mother had arrived, Wilfrid would have preferred that their coming should have been delayed until the house was finished and ready for them, and after his first greeting at the water side he said: "You must not be disappointed, mother, at what you will see. Now everything is in confusion, and the ground is covered with logs and chips. It looked much prettier, I can assure you, when I first saw it, and it will do so again when we have finished and cleared up."

"We will make all allowances, Wilfrid," his mother replied as he helped her from the boat; "but I do not see that any allowance is necessary. This is indeed a sweetly pretty spot, and looks as you said like a park at home. If the trees had been planted with a special view to effect they could not have been better placed."

"You have done excellently, Wilfrid," his father said, putting his hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Mitford here has been telling me how energetically you have been working, and I see that the house has made wonderful progress."

Marion had, after the first greeting, leapt lightly from the boat and run up to the house, towards which the others proceeded at a more leisurely pace, stopping often and looking round at the pleasant prospect. Marion was full of questions to Wilfrid when they arrived. Why were the walls made so thick? How were they going to stop up the crevices between the logs? Where were the windows and doors coming from? What was the roof going to be made of? Was there going to be a floor, or was the ground inside going to be raised to the level of the door-sill? When did he expect to get it finished, and when would they be ready to come in? Couldn't they get some creepers to run up and hide these ugly logs? Was it to be painted or to remain as it was?

Wilfrid answered all these questions as well as he was able. There was to be a floor over all the new portion of the building; Mr. Mitford was getting up the requisite number of planks from a saw-mill at the next settlement. The crevices were to be stopped with moss. It would be for their father to decide whether the logs should be covered with match-boarding inside or out, or whether they should be left as they were for the present. It would probably take another fortnight to finish the roof, and at least a week beyond that before the place would be fit for them to move in.

"You see, Marion, I have built it very much on the plan we decided upon on board the ship, only I was obliged to make a change in the position of the kitchen and men's room. The two Grimstones are going to set to work to-morrow to dig up a portion of the ploughed land behind the house and sow vegetable seeds. Things grow very fast here, and we shall soon get a kitchen-garden. As to flowers, we shall leave that to be decided when you come here."

"I wish I could come over and live here at once and help," Marion said.

"There is nothing you can help in at present, Marion, and it will be much more useful for you to spend a month in learning things at Mr. Mitford's. You undertook to do the cooking; and I am sure that will be quite necessary, for father and mother could never eat the food our Maori cook turns out. And then you have got to learn to make butter and cheese and to cure bacon. That is a most important point, for we must certainly keep pigs and cure our own as Mr. Mitford does, for the stuff they have got at most of the places we touched at was almost uneatable. So, you see, there is plenty to occupy your time until you move in here, and our comfort will depend a vast deal upon the pains you take to learn to do things properly."

"What are you going to roof it with, Wilfrid?" Mr. Renshaw asked.

"We are going to use these poles, father. They will be split in two and nailed with the flat side down on the rafters, and the shingles are going to be nailed on them. That will give a good solid roof that will keep out a good deal of heat. Afterwards if we like we can put beams across the room from wall to wall and plank them, and turn the space above into a storeroom. Of course that will make the house cooler and the rooms more comfortable, but as it was not absolutely necessary I thought it might be left for a while."

"I think, Wilfrid, I should like to have the rooms done with boards inside at once. The outside and the ceiling you speak of can very well wait, but it will be impossible to get the rooms to look at all neat and tidy with these rough logs for walls."

"It certainly will be more comfortable," Wilfrid agreed. "Mr. Mitford will get the match-boards for you. I will measure up the walls this evening and let you know how much will be required. And now shall we take a walk round the place?" The whole party spent a couple of hours in going over the property, with which Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw were greatly pleased. Luncheon had been brought up in the boat, and by the time they returned from their walk Mrs. Mitford and her daughters, who had not accompanied them, had lunch ready and spread out on the grass. The meal was a merry one. Mr. Renshaw was in high spirits at finding things so much more home-like and comfortable than he had expected. His wife was not only pleased for herself, but still more so at seeing that her husband evinced a willingness to look at matters in the best light, and to enter upon the life before him without regret over the past.

"What are you going to call the place, Mr. Renshaw?" Mrs. Mitford asked. "That is always an important point."

"I have not thought about it," Mr. Renshaw replied. "What do you think?"

"Oh, there are lots of suitable names," she replied, looking round. "We might call it Riverside or The Park or The Glade."

"I think The Glade would be very pretty," Marion said; "Riverside would suit so many places."

"I like The Glade too," Mrs. Renshaw said. "Have you thought of anything, Wilfrid?"

"No, mother, I have never given it a thought. I think The Glade will do nicely." And so it was settled, and success to The Glade was thereupon formally drunk in cups of tea.

A month later the Renshaws took possession of their new abode. It looked very neat with its verandah in front of the central portion, and the creepers which Wilfrid had planted against the walls on the day after their visit, promised speedily to cover the logs of which the house was built. Inside the flooring had been planed, stained a deep brown and varnished, while the match-boarding which covered the walls was stained a light colour and also varnished. The furniture, which had arrived the day before from Hawke's Bay was somewhat scanty, but Wilfrid and Marion, who had come over for the purpose, had made the most of it. A square of carpet and some rugs gave a cosy appearance to the floor, white curtains hung before the windows and a few favourite pictures and engravings, which they had brought with them from home, broke the bareness of the walls. Altogether it was a very pretty and snug little abode of which Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw took possession.

CHAPTER XI.

THE HAU-HAUS.

The next three months made a great change in the appearance of The Glade. Three or four plots of gay flowers cut in the grass between the house and the river gave a brightness to its appearance. The house was now covered as far as the roof with greenery, and might well have been mistaken for a rustic bungalow standing in pretty grounds on the banks of the Thames. Behind, a large kitchen-garden was in full bearing. It was surrounded by wire network to keep out the chickens, ducks, and geese, which wandered about and picked up a living as they chose, returning at night to the long low shed erected for them at some distance from the house, receiving a plentiful meal on their arrival to prevent them from lapsing into an altogether wild condition.

Forty acres of land had been reploughed and sown, and the crops had already made considerable progress. In the more distant clearings a dozen horses, twenty or thirty cows, and a small flock of a hundred sheep grazed, while some distance up the glade in which the house stood was the pig-sty, whose occupants were fed with refuse from the garden, picking up, however, the larger portion of their living by rooting in the woods.

Long before Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw moved into the house, Wilfrid, whose labours were now less severe, had paid his first visit to Mr. Atherton's hut. He was at once astonished and delighted with it. It contained indeed but the one room, sixteen feet square, but that room had been made one of the most comfortable dens possible. There was no flooring, but the ground had been beaten until it was as hard as baked clay, and was almost covered with rugs and sheep-skins; a sort of divan ran round three sides of it, and this was also cushioned with skins. The log walls were covered with cow-hides cured with the hair on, and from hooks and brackets hung rifles, fishing-rods, and other articles, while horns and other trophies of the chase were fixed to the walls.

While the Renshaws had contented themselves with stoves, Mr. Atherton had gone to the expense and trouble of having a great open fireplace, with a brick chimney outside the wall. Here, even on the hottest day, two or three logs burnt upon old-fashioned iron dogs. On the wall above was a sort of trophy of oriental weapons. Two very large and comfortable easy chairs stood by the side of the hearth, and in the centre of the room stood an old oak table, richly carved and black with age. A book-case of similar age and make, with its shelves well filled with standard works, stood against the one wall unoccupied by the divan.

Wilfrid stood still with astonishment as he looked in at the door, which Mr. Atherton had himself opened in response to his knock.

"Come in, Wilfrid. As I told you yesterday evening I have just got things a little straight and comfortable."

"I should think you had got them comfortable," Wilfrid said. "I should not have thought that a log cabin could have been made as pretty as this Why, where did you get all the things? Surely you can never have brought them all with you?"

"No, indeed," Mr. Atherton laughed; "the greatest portion of them are products of the country. There was no difficulty in purchasing the skins, the arms, and those sets of horns and trophies. Books and a few other things I brought with me. I have a theory that people very often make themselves uncomfortable merely to effect the saving of a pound or two. Now, I rather like making myself snug, and the carriage of all those things did not add above five pounds to my expenses."

"But surely that table and book-case were never made in New Zealand?"

"Certainly not, Wilfrid. At the time they were made the natives of this country hunted the Moa in happy ignorance of the existence of a white race. No, I regard my getting possession of those things as a special stroke of good luck. I was wandering in the streets of Wellington on the very day after my arrival, when I saw them in a shop. No doubt they had been brought out by some well-to-do emigrant, who clung to them in remembrance of his home in the old country. Probably at his death his place came into the hands of some Goths, who preferred a clean deal table to what he considered old-fashioned things. Anyhow, there they were in the shop, and I bought them at once; as also those arm-chairs, which are as comfortable as anything of the kind I have ever tried. By the way, are you a good shot with the rifle, Wilfrid?"

"No, sir; I never fired a rifle in my life before I left England, nor a shot-gun either."

"Then I think you would do well to practise, lad; and those two men of yours should practise too. You never can say what may come of these native disturbances; the rumours of the progress of this new religion among them are not encouraging. It is quite true that the natives on this side of the island have hitherto been perfectly peaceable, but if they get inoculated with this new religious frenzy there is no saying what may happen. I will speak to your father about it. Not in a way to alarm him; but I will point out that it is of no use your having brought out firearms if none of you know how to use them, and suggest that it will be a good thing if you and the men were to make a point of firing a dozen shots every morning at a mark. I shall add that he himself might just as well do so, and that even the ladies might find it an amusement, using, of course, a light rifle, or firing from a rest with an ordinary rifle with light charges, or that they might practice with revolvers. Anyhow, it is certainly desirable that you and your father and the men should learn to be good shots with these weapons. I will gladly come over at first and act as musketry instructor."

Wilfrid embraced the idea eagerly, and Mr. Atherton on the occasion of his first visit to The Glade in a casual sort of way remarked to Mr. Renshaw that he thought every white man and woman in the outlying colonies ought to be able to use firearms, as, although they might never be called upon to use them in earnest, the knowledge that they could do so with effect would greatly add to their feeling of security and comfort. Mr. Renshaw at once took up the idea and accepted the other's offer to act as instructor. Accordingly, as soon as the Renshaws were established upon their farm, it became one of the standing rules of the place that Wilfrid and the two men should fire twelve shots at a mark every morning before starting for their regular work at the farm.

The target was a figure roughly cut out of wood, representing the size and to some extent the outline of a man's figure.

"It is much better to accustom yourself to fire at a mark of this kind than to practise always at a target," Mr. Atherton said. "A man may shoot wonderfully well at a black mark in the centre of a white square, and yet make very poor practice at a human figure with its dull shades of colour and irregular outline."

"But we shall not be able to tell where our bullets hit," Wilfrid said; "especially after the dummy has been hit a good many times."

"It is not very material where you hit a man, Wilfrid, so that you do hit him. If a man gets a heavy bullet, whether in an arm, a leg, or the body, there is no more fight in him. You can tell by the sound of the bullet if you hit the figure, and if you hit him you have done what you want to. You do not need to practise at distances over three hundred yards; that is quite the outside range at which you would ever want to do any shooting, indeed from fifty to two hundred I consider the useful distance to practise at. If you get to shoot so well that you can with certainty hit a man between those ranges, you may feel pretty comfortable in your mind that you can beat off any attack that might be made on a house you are defending.

"When you have learnt to do this at the full-size figure you can put it in a bush so that only the head and shoulders are visible, as would be those of a native standing up to fire. All this white target-work is very well for shooting for prizes, but if troops were trained to fire at dummy figures at from fifty to two hundred yards distance, and allowed plenty of ammunition for practice and kept steadily at it, you would see that a single company would be more than a match for a whole regiment trained as our soldiers are."

With steady practice every morning, Wilfrid and the two young men made very rapid progress, and at the end of three months it was very seldom that a bullet was thrown away. Sometimes Mr. Renshaw joined them in their practice, but he more often fired a few shots some time during the day with Marion, who became quite an enthusiast in the exercise. Mrs. Renshaw declined to practise, and said that she was content to remain a non-combatant, and would undertake the work of binding up wounds and loading muskets. On Saturday afternoons, when the men left off work somewhat earlier than usual, there was always shooting for small prizes. Twelve shots were fired by each at a figure placed in the bushes a hundred yards away, with only the head and shoulders visible. After each had fired, the shot-holes were counted and then filled up with mud, so that the next marks made were easily distinguishable.

Mr. Renshaw was uniformly last. The Grimstones and Marion generally ran each other very close, each putting eight or nine of their bullets into the figure. Wilfrid was always handicapped two shots, but as he generally put the whole of his ten bullets into the mark, he was in the majority of cases the victor. The shooting party was sometimes swelled by the presence of Mr. Atherton and the two Allens, who had arrived a fortnight after the Renshaws, and had taken up the section of land next below them. Mr. Atherton was incomparably the best shot of the party. Wilfrid, indeed, seldom missed, but he took careful and steady aim at the object, while Mr. Atherton fired apparently without waiting to take aim at all. Sometimes he would not even lift his gun to his shoulder, but would fire from his side, or standing with his back to the mark would turn round and fire instantaneously.

"That sort of thing is only attained by long practice," he would say in answer to Wilfrid's exclamations of astonishment. "You see, I have been shooting in different parts of the world and at different sorts of game for some fifteen years, and in many cases quick shooting is of just as much importance as straight shooting."

But it was with the revolver that Mr. Atherton most surprised his friends. He could put six bullets into half a sheet of note-paper at a distance of fifty yards, firing with such rapidity that the weapon was emptied in two or three seconds.

"I learned that," he said, "among the cow-boys in the West. Some of them are perfectly marvellous shots. It is their sole amusement, and they spend no inconsiderable portion of their pay on cartridges. It seems to become an instinct with them, however small the object at which they fire they are almost certain to hit it. It is a common thing with them for one man to throw an empty meat-tin into the air and for another to put six bullets in before it touches the ground. So certain are they of their own and each others' aim, that one will hold a halfpenny between his finger and thumb for another to fire at from a distance of twenty yards, and it is a common joke for one to knock another's pipe out of his mouth when he is quietly smoking.

"As you see, though my shooting seems to you wonderful, I should be considered quite a poor shot among the cow-boys. Of course, with incessant practice such as they have I should shoot a good deal better than I do; but I could never approach their perfection, for the simple reason that I have not the strength of wrist. They pass their lives in riding half-broken horses, and incessant exercise and hard work harden them until their muscles are like steel, and they scarcely feel what to an ordinary man is a sharp wrench from the recoil of a heavily-loaded Colt."

Life was in every way pleasant at The Glade. The work of breaking up the land went on steadily, but the labour, though hard, was not excessive. In the evening the Allens or Mr. Atherton frequently dropped in, and occasionally Mr. Mitford and his daughters rode over, or the party came up in the boat. The expense of living was small. They had an ample supply of potatoes and other vegetables from their garden, of eggs from their poultry, and of milk, butter, and cheese from their cows. While salt meat was the staple of their food, it was varied occasionally by chicken, ducks, or a goose, while a sheep now and then afforded a week's supply of fresh meat.

Mr. Renshaw had not altogether abandoned his original idea. He had already learnt something of the Maori language from his studies on the voyage, and he rapidly acquired a facility of speaking it from his conversations with the two natives permanently employed on the farm. One of these was a man of some forty years old named Wetini, the other was a lad of sixteen, his son, whose name was Whakapanakai, but as this name was voted altogether too long for conversational purposes he was re-christened Jack.

Wetini spoke but a few words of English, but Jack, who had been educated at one of the mission schools, spoke it fluently. They, with Wetini's wife, inhabited a small hut situated at the edge of the wood, at a distance of about two hundred yards from the house. It was Mr. Renshaw's custom to stroll over there of an evening, and seating himself by the fire, which however hot the weather the natives always kept burning, he would converse with Wetini upon the manners and customs, the religious beliefs and ceremonies, of his people.

In these conversations Jack at first acted as interpreter, but it was not many weeks before Mr. Renshaw gained such proficiency in the tongue that such assistance was no longer needed.

But the period of peace and tranquillity at The Glade was but a short one. Wilfrid learnt from Jack, who had attached himself specially to him, that there were reports among the natives that the prophet Te Ua was sending out missionaries all over the island. This statement was true. Te Ua had sent out four sub-prophets with orders to travel among the tribes and inform them that Te Ua had been appointed by an angel as a prophet, that he was to found a new religion to be called Pai Marire, and that legions of angels waited the time when, all the tribes having been converted, a general rising would take place, and the Pakeha be annihilated by the assistance of these angels, after which a knowledge of all languages and of all the arts and sciences would be bestowed upon the Pai Marire.

Had Te Ua's instructions been carried out, and his agents travelled quietly among the tribes, carefully abstaining from all open hostility to the whites until the whole of the native population had been converted, the rising when it came would have been a terrible one, and might have ended in the whole of the white population being either destroyed or forced for a time to abandon the island. Fortunately the sub-prophets were men of ferocious character. Too impatient to await the appointed time, they attacked the settlers as soon as they collected sufficient converts to do so, and so they brought about the destruction of their leaders' plans.

These attacks put the colonists on their guard, enabled the authorities to collect troops and stand on the defensive, and, what was still more important, caused many of the tribes which had not been converted to the Pai Marire faith to range themselves on the side of the English. Not because they loved the whites, but because from time immemorial the tribes had been divided against each other, and their traditional hostility weighed more with them than their jealousy with the white settlers.

Still, although these rumours as to the spread of the Pai Marire or Hau-Hau faith reached the ears of the settlers, there were few in the western provinces who believed that there was any real danger. The Maoris had always been peaceful and friendly with them, and they could not believe that those with whom they had dwelt so long could suddenly and without any reason become bloodthirsty enemies.

Wilfrid said nothing to his parents as to what he had heard from Jack, but he talked it over with Mr. Atherton and the Allens. The latter were disposed to make light of it, but Mr. Atherton took the matter seriously.

"There is never any saying how things will go with the natives," he said. "All savages seem to be alike. Up to a certain point they are intelligent and sensible; but they are like children; they are easily excited, superstitious in the extreme, and can be deceived without the slightest difficulty by designing people. Of course to us this story of Te Ua's sounds absolutely absurd, but that is no reason why it should appear absurd to them. These people have embraced a sort of Christianity, and they have read of miracles of all sorts, and will have no more difficulty in believing that the angels could destroy all the Europeans in their island than that the Assyrian army was miraculously destroyed before Jerusalem.

"Without taking too much account of the business, I think, Wilfrid, that it will be just as well if all of us in these outlying settlements take a certain amount of precautions. I shall write down at once to my agent at Hawke Bay asking him to buy me a couple of dogs and send them up by the next ship. I shall tell him that it does not matter what sort of dogs they are so that they are good watch-dogs, though, of course, I should prefer that they should be decent dogs of their sort, dogs one could make companions of. I should advise you to do the same.

"I shall ask Mr. Mitford to get me up at once a heavy door and shutters for the window strong enough to stand an assault. Here again I should advise you to do the same. You can assign any reason you like to your father. With a couple of dogs to give the alarm, with a strong door and shutters, you need not be afraid of being taken by surprise, and it is only a surprise that you have in the first place to fear. Of course if there were to be anything like a general rising we should all have to gather at some central spot agreed upon, or else to quit the settlement altogether until matters settle down. Still, I trust that nothing of that sort will take place. At any rate, all we have to fear and prepare against at present is an attack by small parties of fanatics."

Wilfrid had no difficulty in persuading his father to order a strong oak door and shutters for the windows, and to get a couple of dogs. He began the subject by saying: "Mr. Atherton is going to get some strong shutters to his window, father. I think it would be a good thing if we were to get the same for our windows."

"What do we want shutters for, Wilfrid?"

"For just the same reason that we have been learning to use our firearms, father. We do not suppose that the natives, who are all friendly with us, are going to turn treacherous. Still, as there is a bare possibility of such a thing, we have taken some pains in learning to shoot straight. In the same way it would be just as well to have strong shutters put up. We don't at all suppose we are going to be attacked, but if we are the shutters would be invaluable, and would effectually prevent anything like a night surprise. The expense wouldn't be great, and in the unlikely event of the natives being troublesome in this part of this island we should all sleep much more soundly and comfortably if we knew that there was no fear of our being taken by surprise. Mr. Atherton is sending for a couple of dogs too. I have always thought that it would be jolly to have a dog or two here, and if we do not want them as guards they would be pleasant as companions when one is going about the place."

A few days after the arrival of two large watch-dogs and of the heavy shutters and door, Mr. Mitford rode in to The Glade. He chatted for a few minutes on ordinary subjects, and then Mrs. Renshaw said: "Is anything the matter, Mr. Mitford? you look more serious than usual."

"I can hardly say that anything is exactly the matter, Mrs. Renshaw; but I had a batch of newspapers and letters from Wellington this morning, and they give rather stirring news. The Hau-Haus have come into collision with us again. You know that a fortnight since we had news that they had attacked a party of our men under Captain Lloyd and defeated them, and, contrary to all native traditions, had cut off the heads of the slain, among whom was Captain Lloyd himself. I was afraid that after this we should soon hear more of them, and my opinion has been completely justified. On the 1st of May two hundred of the Ngataiwa tribe, and three hundred other natives under Te Ua's prophet Hepanaia and Parengi-Kingi of Taranaki, attacked a strong fort on Sentry Hill, garrisoned by fifty men of the 52d Regiment under Major Short.

"The Ngataiwa took no part in the action, but the Hau-Haus charged with great bravery. The garrison, fortunately being warned by their yells of what was coming, received them with such a heavy fire that their leading ranks were swept away, and they fell back in confusion. They made a second charge, which was equally unsuccessful, and then fell back with a loss of fifty-two killed, among whom were both the Hau-Hau prophet and Parengi-Kingi.

"The other affair has taken place in the Wellington district. Matene, another of the Hau-Hau prophets, came down to Pipiriki, a tribe of the Wanganui. These people were bitterly hostile to us, as they had taken part in some of the former fighting, and their chief and thirty-six of his men were killed. The tribe at once accepted the new faith. Mr. Booth, the resident magistrate, who was greatly respected among them, went up to try to smooth matters down, but was seized, and would have been put to death if it had not been for the interference in his favour of a young chief named Hori Patene, who managed to get him and his wife and children safely down in a canoe to the town of Wanganui. The Hau-Haus prepared to move down the river to attack the town, and sent word to the Ngatihau branch of the tribe who lived down the river to join them. They and two other of the Wanganui tribes living on the lower part of the river refused to do so, and also refused to let them pass down the river, and sent a challenge for a regular battle to take place on the island of Moutoa in the river.

"The challenge was accepted. At dawn on the following morning our natives, three hundred and fifty strong, proceeded to the appointed ground. A hundred picked men crossed on to the island, and the rest remained on the banks as spectators. Of the hundred, fifty, divided into three parties each under a chief, formed the advance guard, while the other fifty remained in reserve at the end of the island two hundred yards away, and too far to be of much use in the event of the advance guard being defeated. The enemy's party were a hundred and thirty strong, and it is difficult to understand why a larger body was not sent over to the island to oppose them, especially as the belief in the invulnerability of the Hau-Haus was generally believed in, even by the natives opposed to them.

"It was a curious fight, quite in the manner of the traditional warfare between the various tribes before our arrival on the island. The lower tribesmen fought, not for the defence of the town, for they were not very friendly with the Europeans, having been strong supporters of the king party, but simply for the prestige of the tribe. No hostile war party had ever forced the river, and none ever should do so. The Hau-Haus came down the river in their canoes and landed without opposition. Then a party of the Wanganui advance guard fired. Although the Hau-Haus were but thirty yards distant none of them fell, and their return volley killed the chiefs of two out of the three sections of the advance guard and many others.

"Disheartened by the loss of their chiefs, the two sections gave way, shouting that the Hau-Haus were invulnerable. The third section, well led by their chief, held their ground, but were driven slowly back by the overwhelming force of the enemy. The battle appeared to be lost, when Tamehana, the sub-chief of one of the flying sections, after vainly trying to rally his men, arrived on the ground, and, refusing to obey the order to take cover from the Hau-Haus' fire, dashed at the enemy and killed two of them with his double-barrelled gun. The last of the three leaders was at this moment shot dead. Nearly all his men were more or less severely wounded, but as the Hau-Haus rushed forward they fired a volley into them at close quarters, killing several. But they still came on, when Tamehana again rushed at them. Seizing the spear of a dead man he drove it into the heart of a Hau-Hau. Catching up the gun and tomahawk of the fallen man, he drove the latter so deeply into the head of another foe that in wrenching it out the handle was broken. Finding that the gun was unloaded, he dashed it in the face of his foes, and snatching up another he was about to fire, when a bullet struck him in the arm. Nevertheless he fired and killed his man, but the next moment was brought to the ground by a bullet that shattered his knee.

"At this moment Hainoma, who commanded the reserve, came up with them, with the fugitives whom he had succeeded in rallying. They fired a volley, and then charged down upon the Hau-Haus with their tomahawks. After a desperate fight the enemy were driven in confusion to the upper end of the island, where they rushed into the water and attempted to swim to the right bank. The prophet was recognized among the swimmers. One of the Wanganui plunged in after him, overtook him just as he reached the opposite bank, and in spite of the prophet uttering the magic words that should have paralysed his assailant, killed him with his tomahawk and swam back with the body to Hainoma."

"They seem to have been two serious affairs," Mr. Renshaw said; "but as the Hau-Haus were defeated in each we may hope that we have heard the last of them, for as both the prophets were killed the belief in the invulnerability of Te Ua's followers must be at an end."

"I wish I could think so," Mr. Mitford said; "but it is terribly hard to kill a superstition. Te Ua will of course say that the two prophets disobeyed his positive instructions and thus brought their fate upon themselves, and the incident may therefore rather strengthen than decrease his influence. The best part of the business in my mind is that some of the tribes have thrown in their lot on our side, or if not actually on our side at any rate against the Hau-Haus. After this we need hardly fear any general action of the natives against us. There are all sorts of obscure alliances between the tribes arising from marriages, or from their having fought on the same side in some far-back struggle. The result is that the tribes who have these alliances with the Wanganui will henceforth range themselves on the same side, or will at any rate hold aloof from this Pai Marire movement. This will also force other tribes, who might have been willing to join in a general movement, to stand neutral, and I think now, that although we may have a great deal of trouble with Te Ua's followers, we may regard any absolute danger to the European population of the island as past.

"There may, I fear, be isolated massacres, for the Hau-Haus, with their cutting off of heads and carrying them about, have introduced an entirely new and savage feature into Maori warfare. I was inclined to think the precautions you and Atherton are taking were rather superfluous, but after this I shall certainly adopt them myself. Everything is perfectly quiet here, but when we see how readily a whole tribe embrace the new religion as soon as a prophet arrives, and are ready at once to massacre a man who had long dwelt among them, and for whom they had always evinced the greatest respect and liking, it is impossible any longer to feel confident that the natives in this part of the country are to be relied upon as absolutely friendly and trustworthy.

"I am sorry now that I have been to some extent the means of inducing you all to settle here. At the time I gave my advice things seemed settling down at the other end of the island, and this Hau-Hau movement reached us only as a vague rumour, and seemed so absurd in itself that one attached no importance to it."

"Pray do not blame yourself, Mr. Mitford; whatever comes of it we are delighted with the choice we have made. We are vastly more comfortable than we had expected to be in so short a time, and things look promising far beyond our expectations. As you say, you could have had no reason to suppose that this absurd movement was going to lead to such serious consequences. Indeed you could have no ground for supposing that it was likely to cause trouble on this side of the island, far removed as we are from the scene of the troubles. Even now these are in fact confined to the district where fighting has been going on for the last three or four years—Taranaki and its neighbourhood; for the Wanganui River, although it flows into the sea in the north of the Wellington district, rises in that of Taranaki, and the tribes who became Hau-Haus and came down the river had already taken part in the fighting with our troops. I really see no reason, therefore, for fearing that it will spread in this direction."

"There is no reason whatever," Mr. Mitford agreed; "only, unfortunately, the natives seldom behave as we expect them to do, and generally act precisely as we expect they will not act. At any rate I shall set to work at once to construct a strong stockade at the back of my house. I have long been talking of forming a large cattle-yard there, so that it will not in any case be labour thrown away, while if trouble should come it will serve as a rallying-place to which all the settlers of the district can drive in their horses and cattle for shelter, and where they can if attacked hold their own against all the natives of the districts."

"I really think you are looking at it in almost too serious a light, Mr. Mitford; still, the fact that there is such a rallying-place in the neighbourhood will of course add to our comfort in case we should hear alarming rumours."

"Quite so, Mr. Renshaw. My idea is there is nothing like being prepared, and though I agree with you that there is little chance of trouble in this remote settlement, it is just as well to take precautions against the worst."

CHAPTER XII.

THE FIRST ALARM.

One morning Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw went down to spend a long day with the Mitfords. The latter had sent up the boat over-night, and they started the first thing in the morning. For the two or three days previous Jack, the young native, had more than once spoken to Wilfrid of the propriety of the hands keeping near the house, but Wilfrid had failed to obtain from him any specific reasons for the warning.

"Bad men come down from Waikato," he said. "Much talkee talkee among natives."

"But what do they talk about, Jack?"

Jack shook his head. "Jack no hear talkee. Men come to hut and talk with father. Other Maoris on land steal in and talk too, but no talk before Jack; always turn him out or send him on errand. But Jack hear sometimes a word, and think that trouble come. Young master better not go far away by himself, and tell two white men to keep close to hut. Perhaps nothing come, but better to be on guard."

"Very well, Jack; I am obliged to you for the warning. I will tell the Grimstones not to go out to the outlying clearings, but to occupy themselves with what they can find to do near home."

Jack nodded. "That best, Master Wilfrid, but no talk too much with me. If my people thought I speak to you then trouble come to Jack."

Wilfrid nodded, and without saying anything to his father and mother told the Grimstones to keep near the house. "After you have done shooting of a morning," he said, "instead of bringing your guns into the house as usual take them down with you to the place where you are at work, so that they will be handy in case of necessity. Most likely there is no danger whatever; but I have heard a rumour that some people from Waikato have come into this neighbourhood, and if so no doubt they are trying to get the tribes here to join the Hau-Haus. I do not think that there is much chance of their succeeding, for the natives have always been very friendly, and there has been no dispute about land or any other grievance; but when one knows how suddenly they have risen in other places, it is better to take precautions."

After breakfast on the morning when his father and mother had started, Wilfrid strolled out on to the verandah, and stood for some little time hesitating what he should do. The Grimstones had just started to look up some cattle in one of the distant clearings, one of the native hands having reported the evening before two of the animals were missing.

"I will go not far till they come back," he said to himself. "The garden wants hoeing. Weeds grow as fast here as they do at home. That will be just the job for me." He was about to turn to enter the house, when he saw four natives emerge from the trees and make towards him.

"Marion," he said through the open door, "get the guns down from the rack, and see that they are capped and ready. There are four natives coming towards the house. I daresay they are friendly, and are probably only on the way down the river to look for work, still as we are alone you cannot be too careful."

Hearing Marion reply "All right, Wilfrid!" the lad leant against the door in a careless attitude, and awaited the coming of the natives. As they approached he saw they were all strangers to him, although he knew most of the natives in the neighbourhood by sight, for these not infrequently came in to barter a pig or a sheep for tobacco, sugar, or other things necessary to them. The natives as they came up gave the usual salutation of good-day, to which Wilfrid replied.

"We are hungry," a tall Maori, who by his dress appeared to be a chief, said.

"I will get you something to eat," Wilfrid answered.

The Maoris would have followed into the house, but he stopped and said sharply, "We do not allow strangers in the house. Those we know are free to enter and depart as they choose, but I have not seen any of you before. If you will sit down on that bench outside I will bring you food."

He soon reappeared with a dish of maize and boiled pork, for a supply was generally kept in readiness in case any of the natives should come in.

"Shuffle about and make a noise," he said to Marion as she got the dish from the cupboard. "They cannot know who are inside, and if they mean mischief—and honestly I do not like their looks—they will be more likely to try it on if they think that I am alone."

The Maoris took the food in silence, and as they ate it Wilfrid was amused to hear Marion stamping heavily about inside, and occasionally speaking as if to her father. He could see that the men were listening, and they exchanged words in a low tone with each other.

Presently the leader of the party said, "Drink!" Wilfrid went in and brought out a pitcher of water. "Gin!" the chief said shortly. "I have no gin to give you," Wilfrid replied; "we do not keep spirits."

The natives rose to their feet. "We will come in and see," the leader said.

"No you won't!" Wilfrid said firmly. "I have given you what food there is in the house, and you are welcome to it; but strangers don't come into the house unless they are invited."

The native laid his hand on Wilfrid's shoulder to push him aside, but four months of chopping and digging had hardened every muscle in the lad's body. He did not move an inch, but jerked the Maori's hand off his shoulder.

With an exclamation of anger the native drew a heavy knobbed stick from the girdle round his waist, but before he could raise it to strike another figure appeared at the door. Marion held a gun in her hand which she raised to her shoulder. "Drop that," she said in a clear ringing voice, "or I fire!"

Taken by surprise, and seeing the rifle pointed full at his head, the chief instantly dropped his club. At the same instant Wilfrid sprang to the door, exclaiming "Go in, Marion!" and before the natives had recovered from their surprise the door was shut and barred.

They had not been deceived by Marion's attempt to personate a man, and their sharp ears had told them while eating their meal that there was but one person in the house, and that it was a girl. They knew that there was no other about, having watched the house for some time, and had therefore anticipated that the work of murder and plunder would be accomplished without difficulty. The instant the door was closed they bounded away at the top of their speed to the shelter of the bush, expecting every moment to hear the report of a rifle behind them; but the Renshaws had not thought of firing.

"Well done, Marion!" Wilfrid exclaimed as soon as the door was fastened. "I was on the point of springing upon him when I heard your voice behind me; I think that I could have tripped him backwards, but if I had done so the others would have been upon me with their clubs. Now, let us close and fasten the shutters, though I do not think we need have any fear of their coming back. In each case we have heard of they have always fallen on the settlers suddenly and killed them before they had time for resistance, and I do not think there is a chance of their trying to attack us now that they know we are ready for them. I expect that they were passing down to some of their people below, and seeing, as they thought, a defenceless hut, thought it would be an easy business to plunder it and knock on the head anyone they might find here. Now that they have failed they will probably go on their journey again."

"I was horribly frightened, Wilfrid," Marion said when they joined each other in the sitting-room after making all the fastenings secure.

"You did not look frightened a bit, Marion; and you certainly gave that fellow a tremendous scare. Didn't he drop his club sharp? And now, what do you think we had better do? The first thing is to get the Grimstones in. Those fellows may have been watching for some time and saw them go out."

"But they have got their guns with them, Wilfrid. The natives would surely not think of attacking two men with guns when they have nothing but their clubs."

"No, they certainly would not think of doing that, Marion. But the chances are that they have got guns, and that they left them in the bush when they sallied out, as they wanted to look peaceful and take us by surprise."

"I did not think of that, Wilfrid. Yes, perhaps they have guns. Well, you know, it has always been agreed that in case of danger three shots should be fired as a warning to those who might be out. If we fire and they hear it they will hurry back."

"Yes, but they might be shot as they make their way down to the house; that is what I am afraid of."

Marion was silent for a minute. "Do you know where they have gone to, Wilfrid?"

"They have gone in the first place to the clearing with those two big trees standing in the centre, but I cannot say where they may go to afterwards, for they had to look for four or five of the cattle that had strayed away."

"I can slip out from the window in the men's room and get into the bush and work round to the clearing, Wilfrid, and fire three shots there; that would bring them to me at once. You see, the natives couldn't cross the clearing here without your having them under your gun."

"No, Marion," Wilfrid said decidedly; "that is not to be thought of. If they saw you going they could work up through the bush on their side to the top of the clearing, and then follow you. No; I think I will fire the three shots. We have talked it over several times, you know, and the Grimstones have been told that if they heard the alarm they must make their way cautiously to the top of the clearing and see what is going on before they venture to make for the house. As soon as I see them I can shout to them to keep to the bush on their left till they get opposite the house. Everything is so still that one can hear a shout a long way, and I feel sure I could make them understand as far off as the end of the clearing. It isn't as if we were sure that these fellows were still hanging about ready to attack us; the probabilities are all the other way. They would have murdered us if they could have taken us by surprise, but that is a different thing altogether to making an attack now they know we are armed and ready."

Taking three of the rifles, Wilfrid opened one of the shutters at the back of the house and fired them, with an interval of about five seconds between each shot, then he stood at the window and watched the upper end of the glade. "Dear me!" he exclaimed suddenly, "I am sorry we fired."

"Why?" Marion asked in surprise.

"Because Mr. Atherton is sure to hear it if he is at home, and will come hurrying over; and if these fellows are still there he may come right into the middle of them."

"I do not think he would do that, Wilfrid," Marion said, after thinking for a moment or two. "Mr. Atherton is not like the Grimstones. He has been in all sorts of adventures, and though I am sure he will come to our help as soon as he can, I think he would take every precaution. He would know that the natives will be likely to come from above, and therefore be between him and us, and would come along carefully so as not to be surprised."

"I hope so, I am sure," Wilfrid said; "for he is an awfully good fellow. Still, as you say, he is sure to keep his eyes opened, and unless they surprise him I should back him against the four of them."

In a quarter of an hour they heard a shout from the edge of the clearing. "There are the Allens!" Wilfrid exclaimed as he leapt to the door. "I forgot about them, although of course they are nearer than Mr. Atherton. All right!" he shouted; "you can come on." The two Allens ran across the open space between the wood and the house.

"What is it, Wilfrid?" they exclaimed as they came up. "You fired the alarm-signal, did you not?" Both were breathless with the speed at which they had run. They had been engaged in felling when they heard the shot, and had thrown down their axes, run into the hut for their guns, and made for The Glade at the top of their speed. In a few words Wilfrid explained what had happened, and that there was every reason to believe that four hostile neighbours were lurking in the bush on the opposite side of the glade. The Allens at once volunteered to go up to the head of the clearing to warn the Grimstones. Returning to the point where they had left the forest, they made their way among the trees until they reached the upper end of the clearing; then they sat down and listened. In a few minutes they heard the sound of breaking twigs. "Here come the men," the elder Allen said; "the Maoris would come along noiselessly." Two or three minutes later the Grimstones came up at a run, accompanied by their two dogs.

"This way," James Allen said.

"What is it, sir?" Bob Grimstone gasped. "We were a long way in the woods when we thought we heard three shots. We were not quite sure about it, but we started back as fast as we could come. There is nothing wrong, I hope?"

"Fortunately nothing has happened," James Allen replied; "but four strange Maoris came up to the house, and would certainly have murdered Mr. Wilfrid and his sister if they had not been prepared for them. Whether they are in the bush now or not I do not know; but we have come up to warn you not to go up the clearing, as, if they are there, they might pick you off as you did so. We must come down under shelter of the trees till we are opposite the house."

In ten minutes they reached the house. Just as they did so Mr. Atherton appeared at the edge of the wood which they had just left.

"Thank God you are all safe!" he said as he strolled up to the house. "Your three shots gave me a fright; but as I heard no more I was relieved, for the signal told that you had not been taken by surprise, and as there was no more firing it was clear they had drawn off."

"But how did you get to that side of the clearing, Mr. Atherton?"

"I followed the wood till within a few hundred yards of the clearing, as I made sure if there were hostile natives about they would be at the edge of the bush. Then I got down into the river and waded along the edge. The bank in front here was not high enough to hide me, though I stooped as much as I could; but I reckoned that all eyes would be fixed on the house, and it was not likely I should be noticed. And now, what is it all about? I am sure you would not have fired the signal unless there had been good cause for the alarm." Wilfrid related what had taken place.

"Well done, Miss Marion!" Mr. Atherton said when he had finished. "It was lucky for your brother that you did not go with your father and mother this morning.

"It was lucky," Wilfrid agreed; "but at the same time, if I had been quite alone I should have closed the shutters and door as they came up, and kept indoors. I only ventured to meet them outside because I knew that Marion had a gun ready to hand to me the moment I wanted it."

"Yes; but you see there was not time to hand you the gun, Wilfrid, as it turned out, and you would have been knocked on the head to a certainty if your sister had not come to your rescue."

"That I certainly should; and I know that I owe Marion my life. What do you think we had better do now?"

"I do not think we can do anything, Wilfrid, beyond trying to find out whether the fellows who came here were alone, or were part of a larger party. Where are your natives?"

"The three men are chopping, and Jack went out with the Grimstones to look for the cattle."

"Was he with you when you heard the shots fired, Bob?"

"He was with us a minute or two before, and was following a track. After we heard the signal we did not think anything more about him, and whether he followed us or went on looking after the cattle I do not know."

"If you go to the door, Wilfrid, and give a loud cooey it will bring him in if he is within hearing. You may be sure that he heard the signal, for his ears are keener than those of your men; but he would not rush straight back, but would come cautiously through the woods according to his nature."

Wilfrid went to the door and gave a loud cooey. A minute later the Maori issued from the bush, nearly opposite the house, and ran in.

"That's just where the natives took to the bush," Wilfrid said. "Perhaps he will be able to tell us something about them."

"I expect he has been scouting," Mr. Atherton said, "and his coming boldly out from that point is a pretty sure proof that the natives have made off. Well, Jack, so you heard our signal?"

Jack nodded.

"And what have you been doing since?" Wilfrid asked.

"Jack went through the bush fast till he got near house, then, as the guns were not going off, he knew there could be no attack; but thought black man might be lying in bush, so he crept and crawled. Presently he heard man talk, and then saw four Maori walking fast away from house. He only heard them say as he passed, 'No use now; too many Pakehas. Come another day and finish them all.' Jack was coming straight to house when he heard cooey."

"You have seen nothing of your father and the other two men, Jack?"

The Maori boy shook his head. "They chop wood; perhaps not heard signal."

"More likely they heard, but thought it better to stay away," Wilfrid said.

"No got guns; they not fighting-men," Jack said, as if in excuse.

"There is something in that," Mr. Atherton said. "The Hau-Haus have always proved themselves even more merciless towards the friendly natives than towards the whites; and these men, being unarmed, might, even with the best disposition in the world, be afraid to come to the house. At any rate, I am glad those fellows have made off. You see, they were in a position to shoot any of us if they got the chance, while we were scarce in a position to return the compliment."

"Why not?" James Allen asked.

"Because, although we could have now no doubt whatever as to their intentions, they have committed no actual assault. They tried their best to push their way into the house, and when Wilfrid opposed them one of them drew his club; but they might say this was only done to frighten him, and that they had no thought of using it. If they had fired a shot, we should of course be justified in killing them; but were we to begin the shooting, the whole tribe they belong to would take it up, and there would be a cry for vengeance; and even if nothing were done at once, we should be marked down to be wiped out at the first opportunity.

"We shall learn in a day or two whether the matter was serious or not," Mr. Atherton went on. "If there is anything like a general defection of the natives in these parts yours will not have been the only place threatened, and we shall hear of attacks on other settlers. If we do not hear of such attacks we can safely put it down that these four fellows were mere haphazard passers, like tramps at home, who were tempted by the fact that the house contained only two persons. In that case we need feel no further anxiety; for as you would be able to recognize them if you met them anywhere, they would not be likely to come near this part of the district again. At any rate I will set off with the boy here and one of the dogs, and will follow up their tracks and see if they have gone well away. I have no doubt they have done so; still, it will be more comfortable to make certain of it."

"By the way, Bob," Wilfrid said, "don't you take those two dogs out again. I don't think they would be any good for hunting cattle, and would be much more likely to frighten and hunt them away than to help you to drive them in. At any rate they were bought as guards, and are to remain about the house. Shall I go with you, Mr. Atherton?"

"No, thank you, Wilfrid; Jack will be enough to help me follow the tracks, for what he heard them say is almost proof that they have gone. I shall go round to my own place when I have followed them fairly off the land, but will come round here to-morrow morning, when we will hold a general council of war. It is no use my coming back again this evening, as your father and the others will not be here before that time. It is possible that they will bring us some news from the Mitfords. If there is any trouble anywhere along the river Mitford is sure to be the first to hear of it. I will send a message back by Jack when he has gone as far as necessary for our purpose."

Two hours later Jack returned with the news that the Maoris had gone straight on without making a stop. Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw were expected back at about ten o'clock. They were to breakfast early at the Mitfords and to come up with their light canoe. They arrived, however, soon after eight o'clock.

"Is all well?" Mr. Renshaw shouted as he stepped from the boat.

"All well, father," Marion replied, running down to meet them. "We had a little unpleasantness yesterday, but nothing of consequence. What brings you back so early? You must have started before daylight."

"Bad news came in yesterday evening, and we should have come straight over if it had been possible, but Mr. Mitford would not let us leave till morning. We have been very anxious about you."

"What is the news?" Wilfrid asked.

"The natives murdered two settlers at a farm some four miles from Mr. Mitford's. Yesterday he received letters both from Poverty Bay and Napier saying that the natives were in a very disturbed state, that Hau-Hau prophets had been going about among them, and that in both districts there had been several murders. Corps of volunteers are being raised at Napier, and they have sent to Wellington for a company of the constabulary. The settlers at Poverty Bay are also making preparations for defence. Mr. Mitford was asked to get all the colonists on this river to arm and prepare for an attack. Of course this news was very alarming in itself, and when two or three hours later the news came in of the murders in our own settlement we were naturally most anxious about you. However, as we could not come over in the dark through the forest, and as Mitford pointed out that the house was well prepared for defence, and that you would certainly be on the alert and had the dogs, who would give you notice of any body of men coming, we consented to remain if he would send us home in the canoe at five o'clock in the morning. And now, what is it that happened here yesterday?"

"It was nothing very alarming, father. Four natives came up and asked for food, which of course I gave them. Then they wanted gin, and seeing that I was alone tried to push their way into the house I tried to stop them. The fellow snatched at his club. As he did so Marion appeared at the door with a levelled rifle, and the fellows, who had no guns with them, took to their heels. We gave the alarm-signal, and the Allens and Mr. Atherton came over at once, and the Grimstones ran in from their work. However, the natives had made their way off, and I do not suppose we shall hear any more of them."

"I don't know, Wilfrid," his father said. "If it had been only this affair I should not have thought much about it. The natives are often rude and insolent, and these men might not have meant to do more than help themselves to a bottle of spirits, but taken with these accounts from Napier and Poverty Bay, and with the murders yesterday, I think it is very serious."

"Mr. Atherton and the Allens promised to come over at ten o'clock, father, to chat the matter over with you, and hear whether you had brought news of any troubles elsewhere. So we shall have quite a council. And now let us have breakfast. We were just going to sit down when we heard your call, and I am sure you must be as hungry as hunters after your three hours on the water."

Breakfast was scarcely finished when Mr. Atherton and the Allens arrived, and were made acquainted with the news of the murder of the two settlers on the previous day.

"It is clear," Mr. Atherton said, "that the affair here yesterday was not, as I hoped, a mere incident, such as might happen anywhere if a party of ruffianly fellows arrived at a lonely house which they thought they could rob with impunity. This sad business you tell us of shows that there is a general movement among the natives, the result, I suppose, of the arrival of some emissary from the Hau-Haus. It is an awkward business. What is Mr. Mitford's opinion on the subject?"

"He thinks it will be well that all settlers on the river capable of bearing arms should be enrolled as a volunteer corps, and be in readiness to turn out at a moment's notice. He is of opinion that all those whose farms lie at a distance from the main body should drive in their animals and bring in such goods as they can carry to his station, as one of the most central. Huts could be got up there, and the animals all kept at night in his large stockaded yard. In case the natives seem inclined to make a regular attack the women and children could be sent down the river in boats or put on board a ship and sent to Napier. Fortunately, there is seldom a week without a craft of some sort putting into the river."

"There is no doubt that this would be the safest plan," Mr. Atherton said, "but it would be a serious thing for the settlers to abandon their crops and houses to the natives unless it was certain that the danger was very great."

"That is my opinion," Mr. Renshaw said. "I am certainly not disposed to have the results of our labour destroyed without a struggle."

Wilfrid looked alike surprised and pleased. "I am glad to hear you say so, father. It would be an awful nuisance and loss to have all our crops destroyed and our house burnt down, and to have to begin the whole thing over again. I don't see what would have been the use of getting everything ready for defence if we are all to run away directly there is danger; but I think it would be a good thing to send the animals down to Mr. Mitford's, as he is good enough to offer to take them. We might send down the three natives to look after them, as of course they will have to go out to graze in the daytime, and keep Jack here. I do not know about the other men, and one doesn't seem able to trust the natives in the slightest; but I feel sure of Jack, and he would be useful to us in many ways in the house, besides being able to scout in the woods far better than we could do."

"I think that you are right, Mr. Renshaw," Mr. Atherton said. "I should propose as an addition that the Allens here and I make this our head-quarters while the scare lasts. We could run up a light shanty with a few hours' work just behind the house. The Allens could go over to their work during the day and return here at night, and I should wander about the woods with my gun as usual. I do not think we need fear any attack in the daytime. If it comes at all it will be at night or at early morning. The natives will know from the men who were here that you are well armed, and will try to catch you napping. We won't be any more trouble to you than we can help, and with the addition of our three guns I think we could defend ourselves against any number of natives. What do you think of my proposal, lads?"

The Allens said at once that they thought it was an excellent one, if Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw were willing to have the trouble of them.

"It will be no trouble at all," Mrs. Renshaw said, "and will be a very great comfort. With seven men to protect us Marion and I shall feel perfectly safe, and it will be in all ways pleasant to have you here with us. I do not see that you need build a hut outside at all. There will be no difficulty in making up beds here and in the kitchen, and then we shall be all together."

"But I do not propose that you should cook for us, Mrs. Renshaw. If we had a hut of our own our boys could do that for us. You see, we are coming up here for our own defence as well as yours."

"I should not think of such a thing," Mrs. Renshaw said decidedly. "There is no more trouble in cooking for nine than there is for six; and, as I have said, it will be a real pleasure to us to have you stopping here."

"Very well. Then in that case, Mrs. Renshaw, we will accept your invitation. I will bring over my belongings to-day and store them in your loft above, and the Allens had better bring over anything they do not want burnt by the natives. I still hope that these outrages are the work of a few ruffians, and that the natives in general will not allow themselves to be persuaded into hostilities against us; still, if the worst comes to the worst, I am convinced that we can hold this house against quite as strong a force as they are likely to bring to attack it. There is one precaution I should advise you to take at once, and that is to lay in a store of water. I daresay you have got some empty molasses and pork casks, that is if you do not burn them as soon as you empty them. If not we must set to work and make a strong wooden tank. In case we were really besieged, it would be fatal to us if we were caught without a supply of water."

Fortunately there were three or four empty casks. These were taken down to the river and thoroughly washed, filled with water and rolled up to the house. While this was being done, Wilfrid, with the Grimstones and the natives, had gone out and driven in all the animals from the clearings, and as soon as they were brought in Wilfrid with the natives started to drive them to Mr. Mitford's. Mr. Atherton went over to his hut, and before night his two natives had brought over all his most valuable property, and the next day his hut was completely stripped. The Allens only brought over a few things. Their furniture was rough and heavy, and they contented themselves by carrying it out into the forest near and hiding it in the undergrowth. Wilfrid returned to The Glade in the evening. He said that many of the settlers had come in, and were erecting shelters of hides, canvas, and wood near Mr. Mitford's house. The men were all being enrolled. Officers had been appointed, and the natives were likely to meet with a stout resistance if they ventured on hostilities.

Mrs. Mitford had sent an earnest invitation to Mrs. Renshaw and Marion to take up their abode with her. Mr. Mitford had approved of their intention of holding the house. He knew its capabilities of defence and thought that, unless taken by surprise, they would be able to hold it.

"It will be a sort of outpost for the colony," he said, "and will add to our safety; for if any strong body of natives were approaching they would probably attack you before coming on here. The instant we hear that you are attacked we will come up to aid you. We shall be able to muster in all something like fifty mounted men—a strength sufficient to meet any number of natives likely to assemble in these parts."

CHAPTER XIII.

THE ATTACK ON THE GLADE.

For three days things went on quietly at The Glade. The first thing in the morning Jack went out with two of the dogs and scouted in the bush. As soon as he returned with the news that he could find no signs of natives the household broke up. The Allens went through the bush to their clearing and continued their work of felling trees. Mr. Atherton sauntered off with his two dogs into the forest in search of plants. Wilfrid and the Grimstones pursued their work of digging and planting in the upper part of the glade. Jack and the two dogs were on watch round the house. Mr. Renshaw worked at his Maori vocabulary, and his wife and daughter carried on the business of the house.

At night two of the dogs were chained up outside; the other two slept in the kitchen, while Jack was allowed to sleep up in the loft. At daybreak on the fourth day the party were awoke by a growl from one of the dogs outside. Each of the occupants of the house had been allotted his post, and in a minute all were standing, rifle in hand, at the windows they were to guard. Mr. Atherton opened the front door and went out, followed by Jack. It was just getting light enough to make out objects in the clearing. Everything seemed quiet.

"What is it, Ponto?" he said to his dog, who was standing with his eyes fixed upon the bush to the right, his ears pricked and his hair bristling. "What do you hear, old fellow?"

The dog uttered another deep growl. A moment later there was a loud yell. A number of dark figures leapt from the edge of the bush and ran towards the house. They had made out Mr. Atherton's figure, and knew that their hope of surprising the place was at an end. Mr. Atherton levelled his rifle and fired, and one of the natives fell dead. Then stooping he quietly unfastened the dog's chain from his collar, telling Jack to do the same to the other dog, "Come into the house, sir," he ordered; "it's no use your being here to be shot."

His shot had been answered by a dozen rifles, but fired in haste as the men were running none of the bullets struck him. Four shots were fired almost simultaneously from the windows looking towards the bush, and three more natives fell. This proof of the accuracy of the defenders' shooting staggered the Maoris and they paused for a moment, then, moved by the exhortations of their chief, they again rushed forward. The whole of the defenders were now gathered at the windows facing them, and seven shots were fired in quick succession. Three natives fell dead. Four others were wounded, two so seriously that they had to be carried off by their comrades, who at once ran back to the bush, and from its edge opened a straggling fire against the house. The shutters that had been thrown open at the two windows were at once closed.

"This is what I call beating them off handsomely," Mr. Atherton said. "Now you see the advantage, Wilfrid, of the pains you have taken to learn to shoot straight. There have been only eleven shots fired, and I fancy there are at least ten casualties among them. I call that a very pretty average for young hands."

"What will they do next, do you think?" Mr. Renshaw asked.

"They will not try another open attack, I fancy. We may expect them to try to work round us. Jack, do you go to the other side of the house and keep a sharp look-out on the bush there. Wilfrid, you take post at the windows we fired from, and peep out from time to time through the loopholes in the shutters. Between times keep yourself out of the line of fire. The betting is a thousand to one against a bullet coming through, still there is no use in running any risk if it can be avoided. Jim Allen, you and I will take up our place at the back of the house; they may try to work up among the crops. In fact, I expect that is the course they will take unless they have had enough of it already. Bob Grimstone, you keep watch at one of the front windows. I don't think there is much chance of attack from that side, but it is as well to keep a look-out. Some of them may attempt to cross to the opposite bush, keeping down by the river. The other three guns will be in reserve."

"Don't you think they are likely to go away now that they have suffered so much loss?" Mrs. Renshaw asked.

"No, I cannot say I think so, Mrs. Renshaw. The Maoris, from what I have heard, always try to get revenge for the death of a kinsman or fellow-tribesman. Of course it depends how many of them there are. I should judge that there were about thirty showed themselves. If that is all there are of them I should say they would not attack again at present. They must know by our firing that there are seven or eight of us here. But I should not rely altogether even upon that, for the natives regard themselves as fully a match, man for man, with the whites, and in their fights with our troops we were often greatly superior in numbers. Still, it is one thing to defend a strong pah and another to attack resolute men snugly sheltered behind bullet-proof logs. They may try again, but if there are any more of their people within reasonable distance I fancy they will be more likely to send for them and keep a sharp watch round us until they come up. Now I will go to my post."

For a quarter of an hour the two watchers at the back of the house saw no signs of life. Then Mr. Atherton said: "There is a movement among that corn, Jim. Do you see, there—just in a line with that big tree at the other end of the clearing? It is moving in several places. Call your brother and young Grimstone to this side of the house, and do you all take steady aim at these moving patches. I will fire first. I think I can pretty well mark the spot where one of the fellows is making his way down. If I hit him the others are likely enough to start up. Then will be your time for taking a shot at them."

As soon as the others were in position and ready Mr. Atherton fired. There was a yell. A dark figure sprang up, stood for an instant, and then fell back. Almost at the same instant half a dozen others leapt to their feet and dashed away. Three rifles were fired. Two of the natives fell, but one almost immediately rose again and followed the others.

"You ought to have done better than that at a hundred yards," Mr. Atherton said. "You two lads ought to have practised a little more steadily than you have. It was Grimstone brought down that man. His rifle went off a second before yours, and the man was falling when you fired. The great thing in firing at natives is that every shot should tell. It is the certainty of the thing that scares them. If they hear bullets singing about with only occasionally a man dropping they gain confidence, but a slow, steady fire with every shot telling shakes their nerves, and makes them very careful of showing themselves."

Half an hour later Jack reported he could see figures moving in the bush on his side, and soon afterwards a fire was opened on the hut from that direction.

"They have worked round the end of the clearing," Mr. Atherton said. "Now it is our turn to begin to fire. We have let them have their own way long enough, and there is plenty of light now, and I think we shall soon be able to put a stop to this game. Now, Wilfrid, do you with one of the Grimstones take up your place at the loopholes at that end of the house, and I with the other will take up mine on the right. Keep a sharp look-out, and do not throw away a shot if you can help it. As we have not answered their fire they have probably got careless, and are sure to expose themselves as they stand up to fire. Now, Bob," he went on, as he took his place at the loophole, "I will take the first who shows himself. I do not think you would miss, but I am sure that I shall not, and it is important not to make a mistake the first time."

Half a minute later a native showed his head and shoulders over a bush as he rose to fire. Before he could raise his gun to his shoulder he fell with a bullet through his head from Mr. Atherton's unerring rifle. That gentleman quietly reloaded.

"You had better take the next again, sir," Bob Grimstone said quietly. "I do not suppose I should miss, but I might do. I do not reckon on hitting a small mark more than eight out of twelve times."

It was nearly four minutes before another native showed himself.

"I think, sir, there is one standing behind that big tree twenty yards in the bush. I thought I saw something move behind it just now."

"I will watch it, Bob," Mr. Atherton said, raising his rifle to his shoulder and looking along it through the loophole.

Two minutes passed, and then a head and shoulder appeared from behind the tree. Instantaneously Mr. Atherton's rifle cracked, and the native fell forward, his gun going off as he did so.

"We need not stand here any longer," Mr. Atherton said quietly, "there will be no more shooting from that side for some time."

Mr. Atherton went to the other end of the house.

"How are you getting on, Wilfrid?"

"We have had three shots. I fired twice and Bill once. I think I missed once altogether, the other time the native went down. Bill wounded his man—hit him in the shoulder, I think. They haven't fired since."

"Then you can put down your guns for the present. Mrs. Renshaw has just told me that breakfast is ready." Mrs. Renshaw and Marion had indeed gone quietly about the work of preparing breakfast for their defenders.

"So you are a non-combatant this morning, Miss Marion?" Mr. Atherton said as he took his place with the rest of the party, with the exception of the Grimstones, who were placed on the watch, at the table.

"Yes," the girl replied; "if I thought there were any danger of the natives fighting their way into the house, of course I should do my best to help defend it; but I do not think that there is the least fear of such a thing, so I am quite content to leave it to you. It does not seem to me that a woman has any business to fight unless absolutely driven to do so in defence of her life. If the natives really do come on and get up close to the house, I think that I ought to help to keep them out; but it is a dreadful thing to have to shoot anyone—at least it seems so to me."

"It is not a pleasant thing when considered in cold blood; but when men go out of their way to take one's life, I do not feel the slightest compunction myself in taking theirs. These natives have no cause of complaint whatever against us. They have assembled and attacked the settlement in a treacherous manner, and without the slightest warning of their intentions. Their intention is to slay man, woman, and child without mercy, and I therefore regard them as human tigers, and no more deserving of pity. At the same time I can quite enter into your feelings, and think you are perfectly right not to take any active part in the affair unless we are pressed by the savages. Then, of course, you would be not only justified, but it would, I think, be your absolute duty to do your best to defend the place."

"Do you think that it is all over now, Mr. Atherton?" Mrs. Renshaw asked. "We regard you as our commanding officer, for you are the only one here who ever saw a shot fired in anger before our voyage out, and your experience is invaluable to us now. Indeed, both my husband and myself feel that it is to your suggestion that we should put up the strong shutters and doors that we owe the lives of our children; for had it not been for that, those men who came first might have taken the house when they found them alone in it."

"I cannot accept your thanks for that, Mrs. Renshaw. It may be if this goes on that the shutters will be found of the greatest use, and indeed they have probably stopped a good many balls from coming in and so saved some of our lives, but on the first occasion Wilfrid and your daughter owed their lives to their being prepared and armed, while the natives relying upon surprising them had left their guns in the wood. The shutters were not closed until after they made off, and had they not been there those four natives could never have passed across the clearing and reached the house under the fire of two cool and steady marksmen.

"As to your first question, whether it is all over, it depends entirely upon whether the party who attacked us are the main force of the natives. If so, I do not think they will renew the attack at present. They have suffered terribly, and know now that it is almost certain death for any of them to show themselves within range of our guns. They have lost fourteen or fifteen men, and I do not think they numbered above forty at first. But if they are only a detached party, and a main body of the tribe is making an attack elsewhere, perhaps upon the settlers at Mitford's, a messenger will by this time have been despatched to them, and we may all have a much more serious attack to encounter to-night or to-morrow morning.

"I have no idea what tribe these fellows belong to; but there are few of the tribes that cannot put five hundred men on the field, while some can put five times that number. So, you see, we are entirely in the dark. Of course things will depend a good deal as to how the main body, if there is a main body, has fared. If they have been, as I feel sure they will be if they venture to attack Mitford's place, roughly handled, the whole body may return home. The natives have proved themselves through the war admirable in defence; but they have by no means distinguished themselves in the attack, and have not, so far as I remember, succeeded in a single instance in capturing a position stoutly held.

"It is one thing to fight behind strong palisades, defended by interior works skilfully laid out, and quite another to advance across the open to assault a defended position; and my belief is that, if they are beaten at Mitford's as well as here, we shall hear no more of them at present. Mind, I do not say that after this I think that it would be safe to continue to live in an outlying station like this until matters have again settled down in this part of the island. No doubt, as soon as the news is known at Napier and Wellington a force will be sent here, or perhaps to Poverty Bay, which is only some twenty miles higher up the coast, and is, I think, from what I hear, better suited as the base of operations than this river would be.

"This force will no doubt make an expedition inland to punish the tribes connected with this affair, for it is of course most important to let the natives on this side of the island see that they cannot attack our settlements with impunity. After that is done it will no doubt be safe to recommence operations here; but at present I fear you will find it necessary for a time to abandon the place, and either take up your abode at the Mitfords', or go down to Napier or Wellington. This will, of course, involve the loss of the crops you have planted, and possibly of your house; but as you have saved all your animals, the loss will be comparatively small and easily repaired."

"Whether large or small," Mr. Renshaw said, "we cannot hesitate over it. It will, as you say, be out of the question to live here exposed at any instant to attack, and never knowing what the day or night may bring forth. The house has not cost above a hundred pounds, and we must put up with that loss. We are fortunately in a very much better position than most settlers in having a reserve to fall back upon, so there will be no hesitation on my part in taking this step. The furniture is worth more than the hut, but I suppose that must go too."

"Not necessarily, Mr. Renshaw. We cannot get away now; for although we can defend ourselves well enough here, we could not make our way down through the woods to Mitford's without great risks. They are accustomed to bush fighting, and as they are still five to one against us, it would be a very serious matter to try to fight our way down. I think that we have no choice but to remain where we are until we are either relieved or are perfectly certain that they have made off. In either case we should then have ample time to make our preparations for retiring, and could strip the house and send everything down in boats or bullock-carts, and might even get up the potatoes, and cut such of the crops as are ripe, or nearly ripe, and send them down also.

"The corps that has been got up among the settlers will be sure to join in the expedition for the punishment of these scoundrels, and indeed it is most probable that all able-bodied settlers will be called out. In any case I think I shall chip in, as the Americans say. I shall have an opportunity of going into little explored tracts in the interior and adding to my collections; and to tell you the truth, I feel anxious to take a part in revenging the massacres that these treacherous natives have committed. Unless they get a sharp lesson the lives of the settlers in all the outlying districts in the colony will be unsafe."

Wilfrid glanced at Mr. Atherton and nodded, to intimate that he should be willing and ready to join in such an expedition; but he thought it better to say nothing at present. The two Allens, however, said at once that if obliged to quit their clearing they would join one of the irregular corps for the defence of the colony.

"We shall get pay and rations," James Allen said, "and that will keep us going until things get settled; and I should certainly like to lend a hand in punishing these treacherous natives. It is horrible to think of their stealing upon defenceless people at night and murdering men, women, and children. It is as bad as the Sepoy mutiny. And now the troops have been almost all withdrawn, and the colony has been left to shift for itself, I think it is no more than the duty of all who have no special ties to aid in the defence against these fanatical Hau-Haus."

"Very well, then, James; we will march side by side, and when you see me give out you shall carry me."

"That would be worse than fighting the natives," James Allen replied with a laugh. "If I were you, Mr. Atherton, I should engage ten natives to accompany me with poles and a hammock."

"That is not a bad idea," Mr. Atherton said calmly, "and possibly I may adopt it; but in that case I shall have to go as a free lance, for I fear it would scarcely be conducive to military discipline to see one of an armed band carried along in the ranks."

None would have thought from the cheerful tone of the conversation that the party were beleaguered by a bloodthirsty enemy. But Mr. Atherton purposely gave a lively tone to the conversation to keep up their spirits. He felt, as he expressed himself, perfectly confident that they could beat off any attack in the daytime; but he knew that if their assailants were largely reinforced, and the place attacked by night, the position would be a very serious one. Even then he was convinced that the assailants would not be able to force their way in, but they would assuredly try to fire the house; and although the solid logs would be difficult to ignite, the match-board covering and the roof would both readily catch fire. However, his hope lay in preventing the natives from firing it, as it would be difficult in the extreme to bring up burning branches under the fire of the defenders.

"It is a pity now, Wilfrid," he said to the lad after breakfast was over, and they had taken up their place together at one of the windows, "that we did not dissuade your father from putting that boarding to the logs. You did not intend to have it at first, and now it adds a good deal to our danger. The only thing I am afraid of is fire, though I own I do not think that there is much chance of any of them getting up with a lighted brand under the fire of our rifles. If the natives were not in the bush at the present moment, I should say that the best thing by far to do would be for all hands to set to work to tear off the match-boarding, and to get down the whole of the covering of the roof; they could not well hurt us then."

"Shall we do it at once, Mr. Atherton?"

"They would shoot us down at their leisure, Wilfrid. No, that is not to be thought of. We must run the risk of fire now; and I feel, as I said, pretty confident that we are too good shots to let men with fire get up to the walls. I wish we could send down word to Mitford's that we are besieged here. Of course, if he is attacked himself he could not help us, but if he is not I know he would come out at once with a strong party to our relief. I wonder whether that native boy of yours would try to carry a message. None of us would have a chance of getting through, but these fellows can crawl like snakes; and by working up through the crops to the upper end of the glade he might gain the bush unobserved."

"I will ask him anyhow," Wilfrid said.

Jack on being promised a new suit of clothes and a present in money if he would carry a note through to Mr. Mitford, at once undertook the mission. Mr. Renshaw, on being told what was arranged, wrote a note stating their position, and Jack, divesting himself of the greater portion of his clothes, crept out through the door at the back of the house, and lying down at once began to crawl through the potato patch towards the upper end of the clearing. From the loopholes of the windows the defenders watched his progress. Although aware of his approximate position they were soon unable to trace his progress.

"He will do," Mr. Atherton said; "if we, knowing the line he is taking, can see nothing move you may be sure that those fellows in the bush will not be able to make him out. Well, we shall have assistance in four or five hours if Mitford's hands are free."

A quarter of an hour passed and all was still quiet.

"He is in the bush by this time," Mr. Atherton said; "now we can take matters easy."

An occasional shot was fired from the bush, and shouts raised which Mr. Renshaw interpreted to be threats of death and extermination.

"They say that all the white men are to be driven into the sea; not one left alive on the island."

"Well, we shall see about that," Mr. Atherton said; "they are not getting on very fast at present."

As time went on it was only the occasional crack of a gun, accompanied by the thud of a bullet against the logs, that told that the natives were still present. They now never raised themselves to fire, but kept well back in the bush, shifting their position after each shot. Time passed somewhat slowly inside, until about four o'clock in the afternoon the sharp crack of a rifle was heard.

"There is Mitford!" Mr. Atherton exclaimed, "that is not a Maori gun. Man the loopholes again! we must prevent any of the fellows on the other side crossing to the assistance of their friends, and give it to the others hot if they are driven out of the shelter of the bush."

The rifle shot was speedily followed by others, and then came the deeper report of the Maori muskets. English shouts were heard, mingled with the yells of the natives. The fight was evidently sharp, for Jack had led the relieving party down upon the rear of the natives engaged in attacking the house from the left. The latter began to fall back, and the defenders of the house presently caught sight of their figures as they flitted from tree to tree.

"We must be careful," Mr. Atherton said, "for every bullet that misses might strike our friends. I think that you had all better reserve your fire till they make a break across the open. You can see by the direction they are firing, and the sound of the rifles, Mitford is closing in on both their flanks so as to drive them out of the bush. I can trust myself not to miss, and will pick them off when I see any of them sheltering on this side of the trees. There is a fellow there just going to fire." His rifle cracked, and the native fell among the bushes.

This completed the scare of the natives, who had already been much disconcerted at the unexpected attack made upon them. The leader of the party shouted an order, and the whole of them made a sudden rush through the bush down towards the river. Three or four fell beneath the rifles of the whites on that side of them, but the rest burst through and continued their course down to the river, and, plunging in, swam to the other side without once giving the defenders of the house the chance of a shot at them.

"Now we can sally out," Mr. Renshaw said.

The door was opened, and they hurried out just as a party of whites issued from the wood and ran towards the house.

"Thanks for your speedy aid, Mitford!" Mr. Renshaw exclaimed as he wrung the hand of the settler.

"You are heartily welcome, my dear sir. A party was just setting off to see how you had fared when your native boy arrived with your note, and it was a great relief to us to know that you had repulsed their attack with such heavy loss to them; I am afraid that several others have not fared so well. Two or three native servants have come in this morning with news of massacres of whole families, they themselves having managed to make their escape in the confusion; and I am afraid that we shall hear of other similar cases. Your gallant defence of your station has been of most important service to us all. There is no doubt that it saved us from an attack at our place. There were a good many natives in the bush round us this morning yelling and shouting, but they did not venture on an attack; and I have no doubt they were waiting for the arrival of the party told off to attack your place on their way. Do you think that there are any of them still in the bush on the other side?"

"I should hardly think so," Mr. Atherton replied. "There must have been fully half of them in the party you attacked, and the others are hardly likely to have waited after they saw you had defeated their friends; but I think that it would be as well for a party of us to ascertain, for if they are still lurking there some of us may be shot down as we move about outside the house. We are quite strong enough now to venture upon such a step."

"I think so too," Mr. Mitford agreed. "There are ten men beside myself and your party. We had better leave four here, the rest of us will make a dash down to the edge of the bush and then skirmish through it."

Mr. Renshaw, the two Grimstones, and one of the settlers were appointed to remain behind to guard the house, and the rest of the party then dashed at full speed across the glade to the edge of the bush. Not a shot was fired as they did so, and having once gained the shelter they advanced through the trees. After pushing forward for half a mile they came to the conclusion that the Maoris had retreated. Many signs were seen of their presence. There were marks of blood here and there, and the bushes were broken down where they had carried off those who had fallen killed or wounded in the bush; the bodies of those who had fallen in the open still remained there.

Upon the return of the party Mr. Mitford was informed of the determination that had been arrived at. This met with his cordial approval.

"I think, Mrs. Renshaw," he said, "that the best plan will be for you and your husband and daughter to return at once with me. I will leave a couple of my men here with your garrison, and in the morning will come out with a strong party and three or four bullock drays to fetch in all your portable property. They can make another trip for your potatoes and such of your crops as can be got in. After the sharp lesson the natives have had here they are not likely to venture in this neighbourhood again for some time; and, indeed, now that they find that the whole settlement is aroused and on its guard I doubt whether we shall hear anything more of them at present, and possibly you may, when matters settle down again, find your house just as it is left."

Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw agreed to the plan proposed, and in a quarter of an hour the party started, leaving The Glade under the protection of the garrison of eight men. The night passed off quietly, and at daybreak all set to work to get up the potatoes and to cut down the crops that were sufficiently ripe. At nine o'clock the waggons arrived, and the furniture and stores were loaded up. By twelve o'clock next day the work in the fields was completed and the waggons again loaded. The house was then locked up and the whole party proceeded to the settlement. They found on their arrival that a strong stockade had been erected near Mr. Mitford's house, and that rough tents and huts had been got up there for the use of the settlers; the whole of the animals belonging to the various farmers on the river had been driven into the stockaded inclosure behind the house.

Here it was decided that all the settlers should remain until help arrived from Wellington or Napier, but in the meantime five and twenty of the younger men were enrolled as a volunteer corps; a Mr. Purcell, who had served for some years as an officer in the army, being unanimously elected in command. There still remained enough men capable of bearing arms to defend the stockade in case of attack during the absence of the corps. Wilfrid and the two Allens were among those who enrolled themselves. Mr. Atherton said that he fully intended to accompany them if possible upon any expedition they might make, but that he should not become a member of the corps.

"You may have long marches," he said, "through the bush, or may, when the reinforcements arrive, be called upon to make an expedition into the hill country to punish the natives. I could not possibly keep up with you during a heavy day's marching, so I shall, like Hal of the Wynd, fight for my own sword. I daresay I shall be there or there about when there is any work to be done, but I must get there in my own way and in my own time. I shall have my own commissariat train. I have had my share of living on next to nothing, and have become somewhat of an epicure, and I know that the sort of rations you are likely to get on a march through a rough country would not suit my constitution. But, as I said before, I hope if there is any fighting done to be somewhere in the neighbourhood."

CHAPTER XIV.

FRESH TROUBLES.

Three days later a small steamer arrived from Napier, bringing a reply to the urgent request that had been sent for the despatch of a body of constabulary for the protection of the settlers. Sir Donald M'Lean, the superintendent of the province, sent word that this was impossible at present, as the alarming news had just been received that the notorious chief Te Kooti, who had been captured and imprisoned at Chatham Island, had effected his escape with the whole of the natives confined in the island, had captured a schooner, and had, it was reported, landed near Poverty Bay.

"It is probable," Sir Donald wrote, "that it is the news of his landing which has excited one of the tribes of the neighbourhood to make an attack upon you. A strong expedition will be fitted out, and we shall doubtless have to supply a contingent. I can only advise you to organize yourselves into a militia, and to stand for the present on the defensive. As soon as operations begin from Poverty Bay you will be relieved from all further danger, as the attention of the hostile tribes will be fully occupied in that direction."

Hitherto the province of Hawke Bay had been comparatively free from the troubles that had so long disturbed Auckland, Taranaki, and the northern portion of Wellington. Only one rising had taken place, and this had been so promptly crushed that the tribes had since remained perfectly quiet. In October 1866 a party of a hundred fighting men had suddenly appeared near the Meanee village. Their principal chief had hitherto borne a very high character, and had been employed by the government to improve the mail road between Napier and Taupo. Colonel Whitmore, who was in command of the colonial forces—for the regular troops had now been almost entirely withdrawn from the island—had just returned from punishing some natives who had committed massacres higher up on the coast, and was, fortunately, at Napier; he at once despatched a company of colonists under Major Fraser, with thirty or forty friendly natives, to hold the natives in check.

Just as they had been sent off the news came that another and more numerous body of Hau-Haus were advancing by way of Petane to attack Napier. Major Fraser and his company were sent off to check these, while Colonel Whitmore, with one hundred and eighty of the colonial militia, marched against the smaller force, and M'Lean, with two hundred friendly natives, established himself in the rear of the village they occupied. An officer was sent in to summon them to surrender, and as no answer could be obtained from them the colonists advanced. The enemy fought with resolution, but the colonists opened a cross-fire upon them, and after fighting for some time the natives were driven out of their cover. Finding no mode of retreat open to them they laid down their arms, some who endeavoured to escape being cut off and also captured. The native loss was twenty-three killed and twenty-eight wounded—many of them mortally; forty-four taken prisoners. Only two or three of the whole party escaped. Upon the same day Major Fraser's little force attacked the other party of Hau-Haus, killed their chief with twelve of his followers, and put the rest to flight.

From that time peace had been unbroken in Hawke Bay; but there had been several outbreaks at Poverty Bay, which lay just north of the province, and massacres at Opotaki and other places further to the north, and almost continuous fighting in the northern districts of Wellington. The news of Te Kooti's escape and of his landing at Poverty Bay naturally caused considerable alarm among the settlers, but hopes were entertained that the whites at Poverty Bay, aided by the friendly natives, would be able to recapture Te Kooti and his followers before they could do any harm.

The next day a small vessel came down from Poverty Bay with a message from Major Biggs, who commanded at that settlement, to ask for assistance if it could be spared him. A consultation was held and it was agreed that the best plan of defending their own settlement was to aid in the recapture of Te Kooti, and that the little force of twenty men should at once go up to aid the settlers under Major Biggs. Accordingly they embarked without delay, Mr. Atherton making a separate bargain with the captain of the craft for his passage, and the next morning they arrived in Poverty Bay.

Major Biggs had, as soon as the news reached him, raised a force of a hundred Europeans and natives. He found Te Kooti's party, a hundred and ninety strong, holding a very strong position near the sea, and sent a chief to them to say that if they would lay down their arms he would try and smooth matters over with government. A defiant answer was returned, and Major Biggs gave orders to commence the attack. But the natives, who formed the bulk of his force, refused to move, saying that the Hau-Haus were too numerous and too strongly posted. Under these circumstances an attack was impossible, for had the little body of whites been defeated the whole settlement would have been open to ravage and destruction.

During the night Te Kooti and his men started for the interior, carrying with them all the stores and provisions they had taken from the schooner. When it was found they had escaped Major Biggs ordered Mr. Skipwith to follow with some friendly natives, pressing on their rear until he ascertained their line of retreat, when he was to cut across country and join the main body who were to march to Paparatu, a point which Te Kooti would in all probability pass in his retreat. The arrival of the coaster with the little band from the Mohaka River was hailed with joy by the Poverty Bay settlers. They arrived just in time to join Major Biggs, and raised his force to fifty white men, who, with thirty Maoris, started for Paparatu and arrived there on the following morning. The Europeans were commanded by Captains Westrupp and Wilson. In the afternoon Mr. Atherton arrived with a party of four natives whom he had hired to carry his store of provisions, ammunition, and baggage.

"So I am in plenty of time," he said when he came up. "I could not bring myself to undertake a night march, but as those fellows have got to lug all the stores they have captured over the mountains I felt pretty sure that I should be in time."

"I am glad you are in time, Mr. Atherton," Wilfrid said. "The assistance of your rifle is not to be despised. The sooner the natives come now the better, for we have only brought four days' provisions in our haversacks. I hear that a reserve force is to come up in two days with rations and ammunition; but one can never calculate upon these natives."

The camp was pitched in a hollow to avoid the observation of the enemy, but it was proposed to fight at a point a mile distant, in a position commanding the spur of the hill, up which the natives must advance after crossing a ford on the Arai River. Four days passed and there was no news of the convoy with the provisions, and the supply in camp was almost exhausted. That evening Major Biggs started to bring up the supplies with all speed, as otherwise starvation would compel the force to retreat. The same day Mr. Skipwith had arrived with news that Te Kooti was undoubtedly marching on Paparatu, but was making slow progress owing to the heavy loads his men were carrying.

The fifth day passed slowly. The men being altogether without food Mr. Atherton divided his small stock of provisions and wine among them, and then taking his rifle went out among the hills, accompanied by two of his natives. Late in the evening he returned, the natives bearing an old boar which he had shot. This was a great piece of luck, for the island contained no wild animals fit for eating, and the boar had probably escaped from some settler's farm or native clearing when young and taken to the woods. It was at once cut up and divided among the hungry men. The next day Mr. Skipwith, with two natives, went out to reconnoitre, and soon returned at full speed, saying that the natives were crossing the river. Captain Wilson, with twenty men, took possession of a hill on the right flank—an almost impregnable position, while Captain Westrupp, with the main body, marched to support the picket which had been placed on the position which it had been arranged they should occupy; but before they could arrive there Te Kooti, with overwhelming numbers, had driven the picket from the ground and occupied the hill.

"This is going to be an awkward business, Wilfrid," Mr. Atherton said. "We have only thirty rounds of ammunition a man, and we have had nothing to eat for the last forty-eight hours but a mouthful of meat. We have suffered the natives to take the position we fixed on. We are outnumbered three to one, and there are not ten men in the force who have had any experience in fighting. If the worst comes to the worst, Wilfrid, do you and the Allens take to the bush. Mind, it is no use trying to run from the natives. If the men were all like our party the other day we could keep these fellows at bay for any time; but they are most of them young hands. They will blaze away their ammunition, and may be seized with a panic. I shall keep close to you, and if things do go badly we will keep together and sell our lives dearly."

"We must retake that place if possible, lads," Captain Westrupp said at that moment. "Spread out in skirmishing order and take advantage of any cover you can find, but let there be no stopping or lagging behind. We must all get up there together and carry it with a rush."

There was no time lost. The men spread out, and with a cheer started up the hill. They were received with a storm of bullets; but the natives from their eminence fired high, and without suffering loss they reached a small ridge near the summit, about twelve yards from the enemy, and separated from them by a narrow gully. Here they threw themselves down, and their fire at once caused the Hau-Haus to throw themselves down among the bushes on their side of the gully. The position of the colonists was a fairly strong one. On their right flank the ground was open, with a few scattered bushes here and there, but the left was covered by a steep ravine, which fell away sharply. The Hau-Haus kept up a heavy fire, to which the colonists replied but seldom, their officer continually impressing upon them the necessity for husbanding their ammunition. Mr. Atherton had arrived breathless in the rear of the party, and had thrown himself down by Wilfrid's side, the two Allens lying next in order. For some minutes Mr. Atherton did not speak, but lay panting heavily.

"This is a nice preparation for shooting," he said presently. "However, I suppose my hand will steady itself after a bit. I have seen a fellow's head show under that bush there twice, and each time his bullet came just over our heads. I will have a talk with him as soon as I get my wind back again. This is not a bad position after all, providing they don't work round to our right."

Ten minutes later Wilfrid, who had his eyes fixed on a bush from which four or five shots had been fired, waiting for another puff of smoke to indicate the exact position in which the man was lying, heard the sharp report of Mr. Atherton's rifle.

"You have got him, I suppose?"

"Of course, lad; there is one less of the yelling rascals to deal with. I wish we could see Biggs and his people coming along the road behind. If we could get a square meal all round and a good supply of ammunition I think we should be able to turn the tables on these fellows. The men are all fighting very steadily, and are husbanding their ammunition better than I expected to see them do."

The fight went on for four hours. Then a number of the Hau-Haus leapt to their feet and made a rush towards the settlers, but the volley they received proved too much for them. Several fell, and the rest bolted back into shelter. Again and again this was tried, but each time without success. At three in the afternoon some men were seen coming along the road behind towards the deserted camp. Captain Westrupp at once wrote a note and sent it down by one of the men, but to the disappointment of the settlers he soon returned with the news that the new arrivals consisted of only nine Maoris carrying rations. They had opened the rum bottles on their way, and most of them were excessively drunk. Two of them who were sufficiently sober came up to help in the defence, but one was shot dead almost immediately, one of the settlers being killed and many wounded more or less severely.

Just as evening was coming on the force was startled by hearing a Hau-Hau bugle in their rear, and presently made out a party of the enemy moving towards the camp through the broken ground on the left rear. It was now evident that either the enemy must be driven off the hill in front or the party must retire to a position on the hill behind the camp. Captain Westrupp determined to try the former alternative first. Calling upon the men to follow him, he dashed across the gully and up on to the crest held by the Maoris. The men followed him gallantly; but the fire from the Maoris hidden among the bushes was so heavy that they were forced to fall back again, seven more of their number being wounded. They now retired in good order down to the camp and up the hill behind it, and were here joined by Captain Wilson with his twenty men.

It was now determined to throw up a sort of intrenchment and hold this position until help came; but the settlers, who had hitherto fought well, were dispirited by their want of success, and by the non-arrival of the reinforcement, and were weak with their long fast. As soon as it became dark they began to steal off and to make their way back towards their homes, and in an hour half the force had retreated. The officers held a council. It was evident the position could not long be held, and that want of food and ammunition would compel a retreat in the morning. It was therefore decided to fall back under cover of the darkness.

The chief of the friendly natives, who had behaved admirably through the fight, offered to guide the party across the country. The officers were obliged to leave their horses, and the party of forty half-starved men, of whom a fourth were wounded—two so severely that it was necessary to carry them—set out. It was a terrible march for the exhausted men, up the bed of a mountain creek, often waist-deep in water, and over steep fern-covered hills, until, just as day was breaking, they reached an out-station. Here they managed to get two sheep, and just as they had cooked and eaten these Colonel Whitmore, the commander of the colonial forces, arrived with thirty volunteers from Napier, who had reached the bay on the previous day.

He at once paraded the men, thanked them for their behaviour on the previous day, and warned them to be ready to start in pursuit of the enemy at once. One of the settlers, acting as spokesman for the rest, stepped forward, pointed out that they had been fighting without intermission for twenty-four hours, that they had been for the last forty-eight hours almost without food, and that it was impossible for them to set out on a fresh march until they had taken some rest. Colonel Whitmore was a hot-tempered man, and expressed himself so strongly that he caused deep offence among the settlers.

They remained firm in their determination not to move until the following day, and the forward movement was therefore necessarily abandoned. On the day previous to the fight Lieutenant Gascoigne had been despatched by Major Biggs to Te Wairoa with despatches for Mr. Deighton, who commanded at that station, warning him to muster all the force at his disposal, and prepare to intercept Te Kooti at the Waihau Lakes in case he should fight his way through Captain Westrupp's force. Orders were sent to the friendly Mahia tribe to muster, and a hundred men at once assembled; but as they had only four rounds of ammunition apiece, nothing could be done until three casks of ammunition were obtained from some of the Wairoa chiefs.

Two days were lost in consequence, and this gave time to Te Kooti; they then started—eighteen European volunteers and eighty natives; a larger body of natives preparing to follow as soon as possible. After being met by messengers with several contradictory orders, they arrived at Waihau, and just before dark Te Kooti was seen crossing the hills towards them with his whole force. Captain Richardson determined to fight them in the position he occupied, but the native chief, with sixty of his followers, at once bolted. Captain Richardson was therefore obliged with the remainder to fall back, and, unfortunately, in the retreat one of the natives fell; his gun went off and, bursting, injured his hand. This was considered by the natives a most unfortunate omen, and dissipated what little courage remained in the Wairoa tribe.

At eleven o'clock next morning the enemy advanced and the action began; but the Wairoa chief, with fifty of his men, again bolted at the first shot. Captain Richardson with the remainder held the position until four in the afternoon, when the ammunition being almost exhausted, he retired quietly. The force fell back to Wairoa, where it was reorganized and increased to two hundred men. In the meantime Colonel Whitmore had been toiling on over a terrible country in Te Kooti's rear, having with him in all about two hundred men, as he had been joined by Major Fraser with fifty of the No. 1 Division Armed Constabulary.

But when they arrived at the boundary of the Poverty Bay district the settlers belonging to it, who had not recovered from their indignation at Colonel Whitmore's unfortunate remarks, refused to go further, saying that the militia regulations only obliged them to defend their own district. Colonel Whitmore, therefore, with a hundred and thirty men, of whom but a handful were whites, marched on to attack two hundred and twenty Hau-Haus posted in a very strong position in the gorge of a river. Twelve of the little party from the Mohaka River still remained with the column, one had been killed, four wounded, while five had remained behind completely knocked up by the fatigues they had encountered.

Mr. Atherton had not gone on with them after the arrival of Colonel Whitmore. "It is of no use, my dear lad," he said to Wilfrid. "I know Colonel Whitmore well by reputation, and the way in which he blew us up this morning because, exhausted as we were, we were physically unable to set out for a fresh march, confirms what I have heard of him. He is a most gallant officer, and is capable of undergoing the greatest fatigue and hardships, and is of opinion that everyone else is as tireless and energetic as he is. He will drive you along over mountain, through rivers, with food or without food, until you come up to Te Kooti, and then he will fight, regardless of odds or position, or anything else. It isn't the fighting I object to; but I never could keep up with the column on such a march. It would be a physical impossibility, and I am not going to attempt it. I shall take a week to recover from my fatigues of last night, and shall go down and stay quietly at the settlement. If Te Kooti takes it into his head to come down there, I shall have great pleasure in doing my best towards putting a stop to his rampaging over the country. If he does not come down I shall, as they say, await developments, and shall find plenty to do in the way of botanizing."

Mr. Atherton had not exaggerated the fatigues and hardships that the force would be called upon to undergo, and they were worn out and exhausted when at last they came upon the track of the Hau-Haus. When they were resting for a short halt Captain Carr, late R.A., who was with the force as a volunteer, reconnoitred a short distance ahead and found the enemy's fire still burning. The news infused fresh life into the tired and hungry men, and they again went forward. The track led up the bed of a river which ran between low, steep cliffs impossible to climb, and the men had to advance in single file. After marching for some distance they reached a bend in the river, where a narrow track ran through a break in the cliff and up the spur of a hill. The advanced guard, consisting of six men, led by Captain Carr, were within fifty yards of this point, when a heavy fire was opened upon them. Just where they were the river bank was sufficiently low to enable them to climb it and take cover in the thick scrub above, whence they replied vigorously to the Hau-Haus, who were within a few yards of them. In the meantime the enemy had opened fire from the base of the hill at the river bend upon the main body, who, standing in single file in the river, were unable to reply or to scale the steep bank and take covering in the scrub. Colonel Whitmore and Captain Tuke tried to lead the men up to charge, but this could only be done in single file, and the fire of the enemy was so hot that those who attempted this were killed or wounded, Captain Tuke being severely hurt. The rest found what shelter they could among the boulders in the river bed, and remained here until the advanced guard fell back, hard pressed by the enemy, and reported the death of Captain Carr and Mr. Canning, another volunteer.

The natives now pressed through the scrub above the cliffs to cut off the retreat. The friendly natives, who were well behind, were ordered to scale the cliff then, and hold the enemy in check. One of them was wounded, and the rest hastily retreated down the river; the constabulary and settlers, altogether about fifty strong, fell back to an island about half a mile to the rear, and here calmly awaited the attack of the enemy. These, however, drew off without disturbing them, disheartened by the fact that Te Kooti had received a wound in the foot, and the troops then retired. Only a few of the strongest men reached the camp that night; the rest, knocked up by want of food and fatigue, lay down in the pouring rain and did not get in until the following morning.

The result of this fight was most unfortunate. Even Colonel Whitmore saw that, with the force at his disposal, nothing could be done against Te Kooti, who was daily becoming more powerful, and was being joined by the tribes in the vicinity. He believed that Te Kooti would carry out his expressed intention of marching north to Waikato, and after collecting there all the tribes of the island, march against Auckland. Thinking, therefore, that Poverty Bay was not likely to be disturbed, he left the settlement and went round by sea to Auckland to confer with government as to the steps to be taken to raise a force capable of coping with what appeared to be the greatest danger that had as yet threatened the island. Te Kooti did not, however, move north, but remained in his camp near the scene of the fight from the 8th of August to the 28th of October, sending messages all over the island with the news of the defeat he had inflicted upon the whites, and proclaiming himself the saviour of the Maori people.

From the position he occupied, about equidistant from the settlements at Wairoa and Poverty Bay, he was able to attack either by a sudden march of two or three days, and yet there was no great uneasiness among the settlers. The force that had operated against Te Kooti had been disbanded, the Napier volunteers had returned, the constabulary withdrawn, and the party of settlers from the Mohaka river had returned home. Wilfrid Renshaw had not gone with them. He had been shot through the leg in the fight in the river, and had been carried down to the settlement. Here Mr. Atherton, who was lodging in one of the settler's houses, had taken charge of him and nursed him assiduously.

Unfortunately the effect of the wound was aggravated by the exhaustion caused by fatigue and insufficient food, and for weeks the lad lay in a state of prostration, wasted by a low fever which at one time seemed as if it would carry him off. It was not until the middle of October that matters took a turn, and he began slowly to mend. For the last three weeks his mother had been by his bedside. For some time Mr. Atherton in his letters had made light of the wound, but when the lad's condition became very serious he had written to Mrs. Renshaw saying that he thought she had better come herself to help in the nursing, as Wilfrid was now suffering from a sharp attack of fever brought on by his hardships.

Mrs. Renshaw, on her arrival, was dismayed at the state in which she found her son. She agreed, however, that it was best not to alarm them in her letters home. The events on the attack of the settlement had much shaken Mr. Renshaw, and he was, when she left him, in a nervous and excited state. She saw that Wilfrid would need every moment of her time, and that were her husband to come it would probably do him harm and seriously interfere with her own usefulness. He was, when she left, on the point of returning to the farm with Marion, as there had been no further renewal of troubles in the settlement.

It had been arranged that the two Allens should take up their residence at The Glade, and that four men belonging to a small force that had been raised among the friendly natives should also be stationed there. This would, it was thought, render it quite safe against sudden attack. Mr. Renshaw was looking eagerly forward to being at home again, and his wife thought that the necessity of superintending the operations at the farm would soothe his nerves and restore him to health. She, therefore, in her letters made the best of things, although admitting that Wilfrid was prostrated by a sort of low fever, and needed care and nursing.

At the end of another fortnight Wilfrid was enabled to sit up and take an interest in what was going on around him. The house was the property of a settler named Sampson, and had been erected by a predecessor of the farmer; it was a good deal larger than he required, though its capacity was now taxed to the utmost by the addition of three lodgers to his family.

"How are things going on, Mr. Atherton?" Wilfrid asked one day when his mother was not present.

"People here seem to think that they are going on very well, Wilfrid."

"But you do not think so, Mr. Atherton?" the lad asked, struck by the dry tone in which the answer was given.

"No, Wilfrid, I cannot say I do. It seems to me that the people here are living in a fool's paradise; and as for Major Biggs I regard him as an obstinate fool."

"How is that?" Wilfrid asked, amused at his friend's vehemence.

"Well, Wilfrid, as far as I can see there is nothing in the world to prevent Te Kooti coming down and cutting all our throats whenever he pleases."

"You don't say so, Mr. Atherton!"

"I do, indeed; it is known that he has sent messages down to the natives here to remain apparently loyal, get what arms they can from the whites, and prepare to join him. I will say for Biggs that he has repeatedly represented the unprotected position of the bay to government, and has obtained permission to place an officer and nine men on pay as scouts to watch the roads leading to the settlements. Gascoigne is in charge of them. There are two roads by which the natives can come; the one a short one, and this is being watched, the other a much longer and more difficult one, and this is entirely open to them if they choose to use it.

"The fact is, Biggs relies on the fact that Colonel Lambert is at Wairoa, and is collecting a force of 600 men there to attack Te Kooti, and he believes that he shall get information from him and from some spies he has in the neighbourhood of Te Kooti's camp long before any movement is actually made. Of course he may do so, but I consider it is a very risky thing to trust the safety of the whole settlement to chance. He ought to station four mounted men on both tracks as near as he dare to Te Kooti's camp. In that case we should be sure to get news in plenty of time to put all the able-bodied men under arms before the enemy could reach the settlement."

"Have they got a stockade built?"

"No, it was proposed at a meeting of some of the settlers that this should be done, but Biggs assured them it was altogether unnecessary. I do not know how it is, Wilfrid, but take us all together we Englishmen have fully a fair share of common sense. I have observed over and over again that in the majority of cases when an Englishman reaches a certain rank in official life, he seems to become an obstinate blockhead. I have often wondered over it, but cannot account for it. Anyhow the state of affairs here is an excellent example of this. I suppose in the whole settlement there is not, with the exception of the man in authority, a single person who does not perceive that the situation is a dangerous one, and that no possible precaution should be omitted; and yet the man who is responsible for the safety of all throws cold water on every proposal, and snubs those who are willing to give up time and labour in order to ensure the safety of the place.

"I suppose he considers that the tone he adopts shows him to be a man superior to those around him, possessing alike far greater knowledge of the situation, and a total freedom from the cowardly fears of his neighbours. Well, well, I hope that events will justify his course, but I own that I sleep with my rifle and revolvers loaded and ready to hand. Mind, I do not say that the chances may not be ten to one against Te Kooti's making a raid down here; but I say if they were a hundred to one it would be the height of folly not to take every possible precaution to ensure the safety of all here."

"Don't you think, Mr. Atherton, that it would be better for mother to go home? I am getting all right now, and can get on very well without her."

"I am sure your mother would not leave you at present, Wilfrid, and I don't think you will be fit to be moved for another fortnight yet. Te Kooti has done nothing for two months, and may not move for as much more. Your mother knows nothing of what I have told you, and I should not make her anxious or uncomfortable by giving her even a hint that I considered there is danger in the air."

CHAPTER XV.

THE MASSACRE AT POVERTY BAY.

Another week passed and Wilfrid was able to walk about the house and garden. A ship was going down in three days, and Mr. Atherton had arranged with the captain to put into the Mohaka river and land them there. No change had taken place in the situation. There had been a meeting of the settlers and friendly natives. The latter had offered to erect the stockades for a small fort if the settlers would do the earthworks. This they had agreed to, but the project was abandoned, as Major Biggs again declared it to be wholly unnecessary. Some of the settlers, dissatisfied with the result, formed themselves into a vigilance committee to watch the ford of the Waipaoa River.

This was done for several nights, but Major Biggs again interfered, and told them he considered the act to be absurd. The vigilance committee, therefore, ceased to act. A few nights later Te Kooti's people crossed at this very ford. Late in the evening of the 4th of November Mr. Atherton was about to go up to bed when he heard a growl from a dog chained up outside. He listened, and made out the voices of men talking in low tones. The lower windows had shutters, and these Mr. Atherton had with some difficulty persuaded Mr. Sampson, who was himself incredulous as to the possibility of attack, to have fastened up of a night. Mr. Atherton ran upstairs, knocked at the doors of Wilfrid's and the settler's rooms, and told them to get up instantly, as something was wrong. Then he threw up his window.

"Who is there?" he asked.

"Open the door," a native replied, "we have a message for you."

"You can give me the message here. I shall not come down until I know who you are."

"The message is that you are to open the door and come out. Te Kooti wants you."

Mr. Atherton could just make out the figure of the speaker in the darkness.

"That is my answer," he said as he fired.

A fierce yell from twenty throats rose in the air, and there was a rush towards the door, while two or three shots were fired at the window. Mr. Atherton had, however, stepped back the instant he had discharged his rifle, and now, leaning out, discharged the chambers of his revolver in quick succession among the natives gathered round the door. Shrieks and yells arose from them, and they bounded away into the darkness, and again several musket-shots were fired at the window. By this time the settler and Wilfrid had both joined Mr. Atherton, having leapt from their beds, seized their arms, and ran out when the first shot was fired.

"It is Te Kooti's men," Mr. Atherton said. "They have come at last. I expect there will be a few minutes before they attack again. You had better throw on some clothes at once and tell the ladies to dress instantly. We may have to leave the house and try to escape across country."

Wilfrid and the settler gave the messages, and then returned.

"How many of them do you think there are?" Wilfrid asked.

"About twenty of them, I should say, and we could rely upon beating them off; but no doubt there are parties told off to the attack of all the outlying settlers, and when the others have done their work they may gather here."

"Where are they now?" Wilfrid asked as he gazed into the darkness.

"I fancy they are behind that shed over there. They are no doubt arranging their plan of attack. I expect they will try fire. There! do you see? That is the flash of a match."

A minute later a light was seen to rise behind the shed, and there was the sound of breaking wood. The light grew brighter and brighter.

"They will be coming soon," Mr. Atherton said. "Do not throw away a shot. The shingles on this roof are as dry as tinder, and if a burning brand falls on them the place will be in a blaze in five minutes. Now!" As he spoke a number of natives, each carrying a flaming brand, appeared from behind the wood shed. The three rifles cracked out, and as many natives fell. The farmer began to reload his rifle, while Mr. Atherton and Wilfrid handed theirs to Mrs. Renshaw, who at that moment joined them, and opened fire with their revolvers. Only two of Wilfrid's shots told, but Mr. Atherton's aim was as steady as when firing at a mark. Two of the natives fell, and four others, throwing down their brands, ran back wounded to the shelter of the wood shed. Their companions, after a moment's hesitation, followed their example. There were now but six unwounded men out of the twenty who attacked the house.

"There is one of them off for assistance!" Wilfrid exclaimed as he caught sight of a figure running at full speed from the shed. In another moment he was lost in the darkness.

"Now is the time for us to make our escape," Mr. Atherton said, turning from the window. "We have succeeded so far, but there may be three times as many next time, and we must be off. We will get out by a window at the back of the house and try and make our way across country to the Mahia tribe. We shall be safe there."

"But Wilfrid cannot walk a hundred yards," Mrs. Renshaw said.

"Then we must carry him," Mr. Atherton replied cheerfully. "He is no great weight, and we can make a litter when we get far enough away. Take a loaf of bread, Mrs. Sampson, a bottle or two of water, and a flask of spirits. You will find one full on my table. Please hurry up, for there is not a moment to lose. I will stay here to the last moment and fire an occasional shot at the shed to let them know that we are still here."

As the course Mr. Atherton advised was evidently the best, the others followed his instructions without discussion, and three minutes later stepped out from the back window into the garden. Mr. Atherton had been told that they were ready, and after firing a last shot from the window and reloading his rifle joined them. Mrs. Sampson had a small basket on one arm, and her child, who was ten years old, grasping her hand. Mrs. Renshaw had taken charge of Wilfrid's rifle, and had offered him her arm, but the excitement had given him his strength for the moment, and he declared himself perfectly capable of walking without assistance.

"Go on as quietly as you can," Mr. Atherton said. "I will keep a bit behind first. They may possibly have put somebody on the watch on this side of the house, although I do not expect they have. They have been taken too much by surprise themselves."

The little party went on quietly and noiselessly about three hundred yards, and then Mr. Atherton joined them. Wilfrid was breathing heavily and leaning against a tree.

"Now jump up upon my back, Wilfrid," Mr. Atherton said; "your weight will not make much difference to me one way or the other. That is right; lend him a hand, Sampson, and get him on to my shoulders. It will be easier for both of us, for I have got no hips for his knees to catch hold of. That is right. Now if you will take my gun we shall get along merrily."

They walked fast for about two miles. Wilfrid several times offered to get down, saying that he could walk again for a bit, but Mr. Atherton would not hear of it. At the end of two miles they reached the spot where the country was covered with low scrub.

"We are pretty safe now," Mr. Atherton said, "we can turn off from the track and take to the scrub for shelter, and there will be little chance of their finding us. Now, Wilfrid, I will set you down for a bit. This is fine exercise for me, and if I were to carry you a few miles every day I should fine down wonderfully. Ah! the others have come up;" he broke off as the sound of a native yell sounded on the still night air, and looking round they saw a bright light rising in the direction from which they had come.

"They have set fire to the house," the settler said; "there goes the result of six years' work. However, I need not grumble over that, now that we have saved our lives."

"We had best be moving on," Mr. Atherton said. "No doubt they opened a heavy fire before they set fire to the shingles with their brands, but the fact that we did not return their fire must have roused their suspicions, and by this time they must have woke up to the fact that we have escaped. They will hunt about for a bit, no doubt, round the house, and may send a few men some distance along the tracks, but they will know there is very little chance of catching us until daylight. Now, Sampson, let us join arms, your right and my left. Wilfrid can sit on them and put his arms round our necks. We carry our rifles on our other shoulders, and that will balance matters. That is right. Now on we go again." With occasional halts they went on for another four hours. By this time the ladies and the little girl were completely exhausted from stumbling over roots and low shrubs in the darkness and the two men also were thoroughly fatigued; for the night was extremely hot, and the work of carrying Wilfrid in addition to the weight of their ammunition, told upon them. They had long since lost the path, but knew by the stars that they were keeping in the right direction.

"Now we will have a few hours' halt," Mr. Atherton said. "We may consider ourselves as perfectly safe from pursuit, though we shall have to be cautious, for there may be parties of these scoundrels wandering about the country. We may hope that a good many of the settlers heard the firing and made off in time, but I fear we shall hear some sad stories of this night's work."

Lying down the whole party were in a few minutes fast asleep. Wilfrid had offered to keep watch, saying that he had done no walking and could very well keep awake, but Mr. Atherton said that nothing would be gained by it. "You could see nothing, and you would hear nothing until a party of natives were quite close, and unless they happened by sheer accident to stumble upon us they could not find us; besides, though you have done no absolute walking, the exertion of sitting up and holding on has been quite as much for you in your weak state as carrying you has been for us. No, we had best all take a rest so as to start fresh in the morning."

Mr. Atherton woke as soon as daylight broke, and rousing himself, cautiously looked round. There was nothing in sight, and he decided to let the party sleep for a few hours longer. It was eight o'clock and the sun was high before the others opened their eyes.

Mr. Atherton was standing up. "There is a horseman coming across the plain," he said; "no doubt he is following the track; by the line he is taking he will pass a little to our right. I will go out to hear the news. I think you had better remain where you are, he may be followed."

Mr. Atherton walked through the bush until he reached the track just as the rider came along.

"Ah! you have escaped, Mr. Atherton; I am glad of that. Have all your party got away?"

"Yes, thank God!" Mr. Atherton said; "and now what is the news?"

"I cannot tell all," the settler said, "but there has been a terrible massacre. I was pressing wool for Dodd and Peppard, whose station, you know, lies some distance from any other. I rode up there just as day was breaking and went to the wool shed. Nobody came, and I heard the dog barking angrily; so I went up to the house to see what was the matter. I found the back-door open and the two men lying dead inside, evidently killed by natives. I then galloped off to the Mission Station and warned them there, and then to the stations of Hawthorne and Strong. I found they had already been warned, and were just about to start; then I rode to Matawhero to warn the settlers there. Most of them had already made off. I passed Bigg's house on the way; there were a number of natives round it evidently in possession, and as I passed Mann's house I saw him and his wife and child lying outside dead. How many more have been murdered I do not know. It is an awful business. Where are your friends?"

"They are in the scrub there. We are making our way to the Mahia."

"Most of the settlers who have escaped have made for the old redoubt at Taranganui, and I fancy they will be able to beat off any attack made on them. I am riding for Wairoa. I cannot think what they can have been about there to let Te Kooti slip away without sending us a warning. He must have come by the long road and been six or seven days on the march."

"Have you seen any natives since you started?" Mr. Atherton asked.

"I saw a party of about twenty of them moving across the country about two miles back. They were scattered about in the bush, and were, I expect, in search of fugitives. They were moving across the line I was going, and were half a mile away; but when they come on this path they may follow it, knowing that those who made their escape and did not go to the redoubt would be likely to try to reach the Mahia country."

"Thank you! then we will be moving on without delay," Mr. Atherton said; and the settler at once rode on with his message to the force at Wairoa. As soon as Mr. Atherton joined the party and told them what he had heard they again set out. After walking for four miles they reached the edge of the plain, and the path here ascended a sharp rise and entered a narrow defile.

Wilfrid, who was sitting on Mr. Atherton's shoulders, looked back for the twentieth time as they ascended the rise. "They are following us!" he exclaimed. "There are a party of fifteen or twenty coming along the path at a run. They are not more than a mile behind at the outside."

"Then I will put you down, Wilfrid," Mr. Atherton said quietly; "that will give me time to cool down a bit before they arrive. They could not have come up at a better place for us. It is no use our trying to hide, they would track us directly. We must make a stand at the mouth of this defile. It is a good place for defence, and if it were not for this rascally bush we should have no difficulty in keeping them off. Even as it is I think we can make a good fight of it. Now, Mrs. Renshaw, will you and Mrs. Sampson and the child go a little way in and sit down. I have no doubt we shall be able to beat these fellows back, and if we do that we can hope to make the rest of our journey without further molestation."

"Could I be of any use in loading the rifles, Mr. Atherton?"

"I think not, Mrs. Renshaw; it may be a long skirmish, and we shall have plenty of time to load; and your being here with us and running the risk of being hit would make us nervous. I think, if you do not mind, we would much rather know that you are in safety behind us."

"Very well," Mrs. Renshaw said quietly; "I will do what you think best. We shall be praying for your success until it is over."

Mr. Atherton looked round after the two ladies had gone on. "There is a bush with a wide ledge of flat ground behind it," he said, pointing to a little clump of underwood some ten feet above them on the side of the ravine. "I think, with my help, you can manage to clamber up there, Wilfrid. Lying down you will be able to fire under the bush and be in fair shelter. Mr. Sampson and I will hold the path here. If they make a rush you will be able to help us with your revolver. Up there you will have the advantage of being able to see movements among the bushes better than we shall, and can fire down at them; and if it comes to a hand-to-hand fight will be of more use there than down here."

Wilfrid at once assented. "Stand on my hand and I will hoist you up." Mr. Atherton raised Wilfrid until he was able to get on to the ledge of rock behind the bushes. Wilfrid laid himself down there, and with his knife cut off a few of the lower twigs so that he was able to get a good view ahead. "Keep yourself well back, lad, and do not raise your head except to fire. Do you see anything of them?"

"Yes, they are not more than a quarter of a mile away and are scattering among the bushes. No doubt they caught sight of us as we came up here, and think it possible we may intend to defend the defile."

"I will let them know we are here;" and Mr. Atherton made two steps forward to the mouth of the defile. Almost at the same instant he levelled his rifle and fired, and one of the Maoris threw up his arms and fell back, the rest throwing themselves down instantaneously among the bushes, whence a moment later two or three shots were fired. But Mr. Atherton had stepped back, and he and the settler, lying down on the ground, worked themselves forward until by raising their heads they could command a view of the slope up to the mouth of the ravine.

For a time all was silent. Presently Wilfrid's rifle spoke out, and a yell testified to the fact that the quick aim he had taken at a dark figure stealing among the bushes had been true. It was followed quickly by a general discharge of their pieces by the natives. The bullets rattled thickly against the rock, and cut leaves from the bushes behind which Wilfrid was lying, but he had drawn himself back a foot or two the moment he fired, and the balls passed harmlessly over him. Not so the missive despatched by Mr. Atherton in the direction of a puff of smoke from a bush some forty yards away, for the figure behind it remained still and immovable while the fray went on. For upwards of an hour the exchange of shots continued, and then the assailants were joined by fifteen other natives, who had been attracted to the spot by the sound of firing.

"I expect they will pluck up their courage to make a rush now, Wilfrid," Mr. Atherton said. "If it had not been for these new arrivals I think they would have soon drawn off, for we must have diminished their numbers very considerably. Don't fire again for a bit; we had best keep our rifles loaded so as to be ready for them when they pluck up courage to charge. When they do, be sure you keep your revolver as a reserve for the critical moment."

Five minutes later a tremendous yell rose in the air. The natives leaped to their feet from behind the bushes, fired their guns at their hidden foes, and then, tomahawk in hand, rushed forward.

Three shots rang out almost simultaneously from the mouth of the defile and three of the natives dropped dead in their tracks. The rest rushed forward in a body. Mr. Atherton and the settler leapt to their feet, and the former opened fire with his Colt's revolver when the leading natives were within ten yards of him. His aim was as accurate as when directed against a mark stuck against a tree, and a man fell at each shot. But the natives' blood was thoroughly up now, and in spite of the slaughter they rushed forward. There was no room in the narrow defile for two men to swing their rifles, and Mr. Atherton and the settler stepped forward to meet the foe with their clubbed rifles in their hands. Two crashing blows were delivered with effect, but before the settler could again raise his weapon three Maoris were upon him. One tomahawk struck him in the shoulder and the rifle fell from his hands. Another raised his tomahawk to brain him, but fell with a bullet from Wilfrid's revolver through his chest; but the third native brought his weapon down with terrible force upon the settler's head, and he fell in a heap upon the ground. The tremendous strength of Mr. Atherton stood him in good stead now. The first blow he had dealt had smashed the stock of his rifle, but he whirled the iron barrel like a light twig round his head, dealing blows that broke down the defence of the natives as if their tomahawks had been straw, and beating them down as a flail would level a wheat stalk. Those in front of him recoiled from a strength which seemed to them superhuman, while whenever one tried to attack him in the rear Wilfrid's revolver came into play with fatal accuracy. At last, with a cry of terror, the surviving natives turned and retreated at the top of their speed.

"Hot work, Wilfrid," Mr. Atherton said as he lowered his terrible weapon and wiped the streaming perspiration from his face; "but we have given the rascals such a lesson that we can journey on at our leisure. This is a bad business of poor Sampson's. I will help you down first and then we will see to him. Recharge your revolver, lad," he went on as Wilfrid stood beside him; "some of these fellows may not be dead, and may play us an ugly trick if we are not on the look-out."

Wilfrid reloaded his pistol, and Mr. Atherton then stooped over the fallen man.

"He is desperately hurt," he said, "but he breathes. Hand me that revolver, Wilfrid, and run back and tell Mrs. Sampson her husband is hurt."

Wilfrid had gone but a yard or two when he met his mother and the settler's wife, who, hearing the cessation of the firing, were no longer able to restrain their anxiety as to what was going forward. Mrs. Renshaw gave a cry of joy at seeing Wilfrid walking towards her.

"Is it all over, my boy, and are you unhurt?"

"It is all over, mother, and they have bolted. I have not had a scratch, for I have been lying down all the time in shelter; but I am sorry to say, Mrs. Sampson, that your husband is badly hurt.

"No; he is not dead," he continued in answer to the agonized expression of inquiry in her eyes. "He has been stunned by the blow of a tomahawk, and is, as I said, badly hurt; but he will, I trust, get over it."

Mrs. Sampson ran forward and threw herself on her knees by her husband's side, uttering a suppressed cry as she saw the terrible wound on his head.

"Wilfrid, there is a bottle of water untouched in the basket," Mr. Atherton said.

"I will fetch it," Mrs. Renshaw broke in, hurrying away. "No, Milly," she said, as the child who had been ordered to stay with the basket came running to meet her. "You must stay here for a little while. The natives have all run away, but your father is hurt and for a time must be kept quite quiet. I will send Wilfrid to sit with you."

Taking a bottle of water and a cloth which covered the basket, Mrs. Renshaw hurried back. "Wilfrid," she said, "do you go and sit with the little one. You can do no good here, and look completely worn out. You will be making yourself useful if you amuse Milly and keep her away from here for the present."

Mr. Atherton poured a little of the water into the cover of his flask, added some brandy, and poured a little of it between the wounded man's lips. Then he saturated the cloth with water and handed it to Mrs. Sampson, who wiped the blood from her husband's head and face, then poured a little water from the bottle on to his forehead. Some more brandy and water was poured between his lips and he uttered a faint groan.

"I will examine his wound now, Mrs. Sampson. I have had some experience that way in my journeyings about the world." Kneeling down he carefully examined the wound.

MR. ATHERTON KEEPS THE MOUTH OF THE DEFILE

Page 294

"It is better than I hoped, Mrs. Sampson," he said cheerfully. "I expect the thick hat turned the tomahawk a little and it fell obliquely on the side of the head. It has carried away a goodish slice of the hair and scalp, and has starred the bone, but it has not crushed it in, and I think that with care and nursing your husband will not be long before he gets over it. You had better fold up that cloth again, pour some fresh water over it, and then bandage it over the wound with a slip of stuff torn off from the bottom of your petticoat. You had better tear off two slips, for his arm will require bandaging too. I will look to that as soon as you have done his head. No," he went on, when he saw that Mrs. Sampson's trembling fingers were quite incapable of fixing the bandage properly, "I do not think that will do. If you will allow me I will do it for you."

He took Mrs. Sampson's place, and while Mrs. Renshaw supported the settler's head he wound the bandage tightly and skilfully round it. "Now for his arm," he said, and drawing out his knife cut the sleeve up the shoulder. "It has narrowly missed the artery," he went on; "but though it is an ugly-looking gash it is not serious. I wish we had some more water, but as we haven't we must do without it, and I daresay we shall come across a stream soon." When the operation of bandaging was complete Mr. Atherton stood up.

"What are we to do next?" Mrs. Renshaw asked him.

"We must cut a couple of saplings and make a litter," he said. "If one of you ladies can spare a petticoat, please take it off while I cut the poles." He went away and returned in a few minutes with two poles ten or eleven feet long.

"Here is the petticoat," Mrs. Renshaw said. The settler's wife was too absorbed by her grief and anxiety to hear Mr. Atherton's request. "What is to be done with it?"

"In the first place it must be taken out of that band, or whatever you call it," Mr. Atherton replied, "and then split right down. Here is my knife."

When the garment had been operated upon there remained a length of strong calico nearly three feet wide and three yards long. "That will do well," he said. "Now we have to fasten this to the poles. How would you do that? It is more in your way than mine."

"I should roll it twice round the pole and then sew it, if I had a needle and thread. If I had not that I should make holes in every six inches and tie it with string; but unfortunately we have no string either."

"I think we can manage that," Mr. Atherton said; and he walked rapidly away and returned in a few minutes with some long stalks that looked like coarse grass.

"This is the very thing, Mrs. Renshaw," he said; "this is what is called New Zealand flax, and I have no doubt it will be strong enough for our purpose." In a quarter of an hour the litter was completed. Just as it was finished Mrs. Sampson uttered an exclamation of joy, and turning round, they saw that her husband had opened his eyes and was looking round in a dazed, bewildered way.

"It is all right, Sampson," Mr. Atherton said cheerfully; "we have thrashed the natives handsomely; they have bolted, and there is no fear of their coming back again. You have had a clip on the head with a tomahawk, but I do not think that you will be much the worse for it at the end of a week or two. We have just been manufacturing a litter for you, and now we will lift you on to it. Now, ladies, I will take him by the shoulders; will you take him by the feet, Mrs. Renshaw; and do you, Mrs. Sampson, support his head? That is the way. Now, I will just roll up my coat and put it under his head, and then I think he will do; lay our rifles beside him. Now, I will take the two handles at his head; do you each take one at his feet. The weight will not be great, and you can change about when your arms get tired. Yes, I see what you are thinking about, Mrs. Renshaw. We must go along bit by bit. We will carry our patient here for half a mile, then I will come back and fetch Wilfrid up to that point, then we will go on again, and so on."

"All the hard work falls on you, Mr. Atherton; it is too bad," Mrs. Renshaw said with grateful tears in her eyes.

"It will do me a world of good, Mrs. Renshaw. I must have lost over a stone weight since yesterday. If this sort of thing were to go on for a few weeks I should get into fighting condition. Now, are you both ready? Lift."

In a short time they came to the point where Wilfrid and the child were sitting down together. Wilfrid had been impressing upon her that her father was hurt, and that she must be very good and quiet, and walk along quietly by her mother's side. So when they came along she got up and approached them with a subdued and awe-struck air. She took the hand her mother held out to her.

"Is father very bad, mother?" she asked in a low tone.

"He is better than he was, dear, and we must hope and pray that he will soon be well again; but at present you must not speak to him. He must be kept very quiet and not allowed to talk."

"You sit where you are, Wilfrid, I will come back for you in half an hour," Mr. Atherton said.

"That you won't Mr. Atherton," Wilfrid said, getting up. "I have had a long rest, for, except for pulling my trigger and loading, I have done nothing since the first short walk when we started this morning. All this excitement has done me a lot of good, and I feel as if I could walk ever so far."

"Well, put your rifle in the litter, then," Mr. Atherton said; "its weight will make no difference to us, and it will make a lot of difference to you; when you are tired say so."

Wilfrid struggled on resolutely, refusing to stop until they reached a stream two miles from the starting-place. Here they rested for an hour. The settler's wounds were washed and rebandaged, the others partook of a meal of bread and water, and they then continued the journey. At the end of another half-mile Wilfrid was obliged to own that his strength could hold out no longer, but he refused positively to accept Mr. Atherton's proposal to come back for him.

"I will not hear of it, Mr. Atherton," he said. "From what Mrs. Sampson says it is another eight or ten miles to the Mahia country. There is not the least fear of any of the Hau-Haus following on our track. The best way by far is this: I will go a hundred yards into the bush and lie down. You push on. It will be dark before you finish your journey as it is, you would not get there till to-morrow morning if you had to keep on coming back for me; besides, you would never get on with the litter after it is dark. Leave me a piece of bread, a bottle of water, my rifle and revolver, and I shall be as comfortable among the bushes there as if I were in bed. In the morning you can send out a party of Mahias to fetch me in. If you break down a small bough here by the side of the way, that will be quite sufficient to tell the natives where they are to turn off from the path to look for me."

"Well, I really think that is the best plan, Wilfrid. There is, as you say, no real danger in your stopping here alone. It would be a long job coming back for you every time we halt, and it is of importance to get Mr. Sampson laid down and quiet as soon as possible."

Mrs. Renshaw did not like leaving Wilfrid alone; but she saw that she could be of no real assistance to him, and her aid was absolutely required to carry the wounded man. She therefore offered no objections to the proposal.

"Don't look downcast, mother," Wilfrid said as he kissed her. "The weather is fine, and there is no hardship whatever in a night in the bush, especially after what we went through when we were following Te Kooti."

Wilfrid made his way a hundred yards back into the bush and then threw himself down under a tree-fern, and in a very few minutes he was sound asleep. The next time he awoke all was dark around him.

"I must have slept a good many hours," he said. "I feel precious hungry." He ate a hunch of bread, took a drink of water from the bottle, and soon fell asleep again. The morning was breaking when he again woke. A quarter of an hour later he heard voices, and cocking his rifle and lying down full length on the grass, waited. In another minute to his joy he heard Mr. Atherton's voice shouting, "Where are you, Wilfrid? Where have you hidden yourself?"

CHAPTER XVI.

THE PURSUIT OF TE KOOTI.

He leapt to his feet and ran forward. Mr. Atherton was approaching, accompanied by a party of six natives.

"Why, Mr. Atherton, I was not expecting you for another three hours."

"Well, you see, Wilfrid, your mother was anxious about you. She did not say anything, for she is a plucky woman, and not given to complaining or grumbling, still I could see she was anxious, so I arranged with these natives to be ready to start three hours before daybreak, so as to get here just as the sun was rising."

"It is awfully kind of you, Atherton; but surely the natives would have been able to find me without your troubling yourself to come all this way again. I am sure you must have been dreadfully tired after all your work yesterday."

"Well, Wilfrid, perhaps I was just a little bit anxious myself about you, and should have fussed and fidgeted until you got back, so you see the quickest way to satisfy myself was to come with the natives."

"What time did you get in last night?"

"About eight o'clock in the evening, I think. We were all pretty well knocked up, but the two ladies bore it bravely, so you see I had no excuse for grumbling."

"I am sure you would not have grumbled anyhow," Wilfrid laughed; "but I know that when one is carrying anyone the weight at the head is more than double the weight at the feet, and that was divided between them, while you had the heavy end all to yourself. And how is Sampson?"

"I think he will do, Wilfrid. The natives took him in hand as soon as he got there, and put leaf poultices to his wounds. They are very good at that sort of thing; and so they ought to be, considering they have been breaking each other's heads almost from the days of Adam. Well, let us be off. We have brought the stretcher with us, and shall get you back in no time."

Wilfrid lay down upon the stretcher. Four of the natives lifted it and went off at a light swinging pace. From time to time changes were made, the other two natives taking their share. Had they been alone the natives could have made the ten miles' journey under the two hours, but Mr. Atherton reduced their speed directly after they had started.

"I have not been killed by the Hau-Haus, Wilfrid, and I do not mean to let myself be killed by friendly natives. Three miles an hour is my pace, and except in a case of extreme emergency I never exceed it. I have no wish, when I get back to England, to be exhibited as a walking skeleton.

"It is good to hear you laugh again, lad," he went on as Wilfrid burst into a shout of laughter, to the astonishment of his four bearers. "I was afraid six weeks back that we should never hear you laugh again."

"Oh, Mr. Atherton!" Wilfrid exclaimed a few minutes later, "were there any other of the Poverty Bay people there last night; and have you heard what took place and whether many besides those we know of have lost their lives?"

"Yes; I am sorry to say it has been a very bad business. As we heard from Butters, Dodd and Reppart were killed, and there is no doubt that their shepherd was also slaughtered. Major Biggs, poor fellow, has paid for his obstinacy and over-confidence with his life. His wife, baby, and servant were also killed. The news of this was brought by a boy employed in the house, who escaped by the back-door and hid in a flax bush. Captain Wilson, his wife, and children have all been murdered. M'Culloch was killed with his wife and baby; the little boy managed to escape, and got to the redoubt at Taranganui. Cadel was also killed. Fortunately Firmin heard the sound of musketry in the night. He started at dawn to see what was the matter. He met a native, who told him that the Hau-Haus were massacring the whites, and at once rode off and warned Wylie, Stevenson, Benson, Hawthorne, and Strong; and these all escaped with their families, and with Major Westrupp got safely to the Mahia people.

"The boy who escaped from Major Biggs's house reached Bloomfields, and all the women and children there managed to escape. How they did it heaven only knows, for the Hau-Haus were all round. That is all we know at present, and we hope that the rest of the settlers of the outlying stations round Matawhero succeeded in getting into Taranganui. Whether the Hau-Haus will be satisfied with the slaughter they have effected, or will try to penetrate further into the settlement or attack Taranganui, remains to be seen. Of course the people who have escaped are, like ourselves, ignorant of everything that has taken place except what happened in their immediate neighbourhood. I should fancy, myself, that however widespread the massacre may have been, the Hau-Haus started last night on their way back. They would know that as soon as the news reached Wairoa the force there will be on the move to cut them off."

"Do you think they will succeed?" Wilfrid asked eagerly.

"I do not think so, Wilfrid. If Colonel Whitmore were there they would have routed out Te Kooti long ago, but Colonel Lambert seems a man of a different stamp altogether. Why, I heard last night that he marched six days ago to Whataroa, quite close to Te Kooti's place, and that a prisoner they took gave them positive information that the Hau-Haus there had all left to assist Te Kooti in a raid upon Poverty Bay. It seems they did not believe the news; at anyrate, although a mail left for Poverty Bay on the day after they returned to Wairoa, they sent no news whatever of the report they had heard. If they had done so there would have been plenty of time for the settlers to prepare for the attack.

"It is one of the most scandalous cases of neglect that I ever heard of, and Lambert ought to be tried by court-martial, though that would not bring all these people to life again. However there is one thing certain, the news of this affair will create such a sensation throughout the island that even the incapable government at Auckland, who have disregarded all the urgent requests for aid against Te Kooti, will be forced to do something, and I sincerely hope they will despatch Whitmore with a strong force of constabulary to wipe out Te Kooti and his band. It is curious how things come about. Almost all these poor fellows who have been killed belonged to the Poverty Bay militia, who refused to press on with Whitmore in pursuit of Te Kooti. Had they done so, the addition of thirty white men to his force might have made all the difference in that fight you had with him, and in that case Te Kooti would have been driven far up the country, and this massacre would never have taken place."

It was a great relief to Mrs. Renshaw when Wilfrid reached the village. She was not given to idle fears, and felt convinced that he was running no real danger; for she knew Mr. Atherton would not have left him by himself had he not been perfectly convinced there was no danger of pursuit. Still she felt a weight lifted off her mind when she saw the party entering the village.

"Well, mother, you must have had a terrible journey of it yesterday," Wilfrid said, after he had assured her that he felt none the worse for what had passed, and was indeed stronger and better than he had been two days before.

"It was a terrible journey, Wilfrid. Fourteen miles does not seem such a very long distance to walk, though I do not suppose I ever walked as far since I was a girl; but the weight of the stretcher made all the difference. It did not feel much when we started, but it soon got heavier as we went on; and though we changed sides every few minutes it seemed at last as if one's arms were being pulled out of their sockets. We could never have done it if it had not been for Mr. Atherton. He kept us cheery the whole time. It seems ridiculous to remember that he has always been representing himself as unequal to any exertion. He was carrying the greater part of the weight, and indeed five miles before we got to the end of our journey, seeing how exhausted we were becoming, he tied two sticks six feet long to our end of the poles, and in that way made the work a great deal lighter for us, and of course a great deal heavier for himself. He declared he hardly felt it, for by that time I had torn two wide strips from the bottom of my dress, tied them together, and put them over his shoulders and fastened them to the two poles; so that he got the weight on his shoulders instead of his hands. But in addition to Mr. Sampson's weight he carried Milly perched on his shoulder the last eight miles. He is a noble fellow."

"He did not say anything about carrying Milly," Wilfrid said, "or of taking all the weight of the litter. He is a splendid fellow, mother."

"He was terribly exhausted when he got in," Mrs. Renshaw said; "and was looking almost as pale as death when we went into the light in the hut where the other fugitives had assembled. As soon as the others relieved him of the weight of the litter, and lifted Milly down from his shoulder, he went out of the hut. As soon as I had seen Mr. Sampson well cared for, I went out to look for him, and found he had thrown himself down on the ground outside, and was lying there, I thought at first insensible, but he wasn't. I stooped over him and he said, 'I am all right, Mrs. Renshaw, but I was not up to answering questions. In half an hour I shall be myself again, but I own that I feel washed out at present.' I took him out a glass of brandy and water, he drank it and said, 'I feel ashamed at being waited on by you, Mrs. Renshaw, when you must be as tired as I am. Please do not bother any more about me, but if you will ask one of the others to get a native blanket to throw over me to keep off the dew I shall be all right in the morning; but I do not feel as if I could get on my feet again to-night if a fortune depended on it.' Of course I did as he asked me, and I was perfectly stupefied this morning when I heard that he had been up at two o'clock and had gone off with a party of natives to bring you in."

"It was awfully good of him," Wilfrid said, "and he never said a word to me about it. Where is he?" and he looked round. But Mr. Atherton had disappeared.

"Have you seen Mr. Atherton?" they asked Mr. Wylie, as he came out of a large hut that had been given up for the use of the fugitives.

"He has just had a glass of spirits and water—unfortunately we had no tea to offer him—and a piece of bread, and has taken a blanket and has gone off to an empty hut; he said he intended to sleep until to-morrow morning," and indeed it was not until next day that Mr. Atherton again appeared.

Several friendly natives arrived one after another at the village. They brought the news that the Hau-Haus had attacked only the colonists round Matawairo, and that all the rest of the settlers were gathered at Taranganui; but the Hau-Haus were plundering all the deserted houses, and were shooting down all the natives who refused to join them. It was afterwards found indeed that the natives had suffered even more severely than the whites, for while thirty-three of the latter were murdered thirty-seven of the natives were killed. Major Westrupp had left by ship for Napier to obtain assistance, Lieutenant Gascoyne had made his way safely through the Hau-Haus to Taranganui, and had sent a whale-boat out to a schooner that was seen passing down the coast. She at once came into the port, and the women and children were sent off to Napier. The garrison of the fort had been reinforced by the friendly natives under their chief Henare Potare, and were awaiting the expected attack by Te Kooti.

A week later news came that Major Westrupp and Captain Tuke had arrived from Napier with three hundred natives, and that the Hau-Haus had retired with their plunder. The party at Te Mahia at once started for the coast accompanied by some thirty men of the Mahia tribe. A waggon had been procured for the transport of the women and children, and a march of twenty-four miles took them to Taranganui. They found that parties had been out the day before to bury the dead, and had brought in two persons who were supposed to have been murdered. As one of the parties were going along they saw a small poodle dog run into a bush, and recognized it as having belonged to Captain Wilson. They called and whistled to it in vain, and came to the conclusion that someone must be in hiding there. After half an hour's search they discovered little James Wilson with the dog tightly held in his arms; the boy was too frightened to distinguish friend from foe, and was greatly delighted when he recognized one of the party. He told them that his mother was alive, and was lying wounded in an out-house at their place. He had lost his way while trying to reach Taranganui to bring help to her.

Captain Wilson had defended his house with a revolver until the natives brought fire to burn him out. As they offered to spare the lives of all within if they surrendered, Captain Wilson, thinking that there was a possibility of their keeping their word, while those within would certainly be burned if they resisted, surrendered. The prisoners were being led along by their captors, Captain Wilson carrying the little boy, when the natives fell upon them. Captain Wilson was shot through the back, his servant, Morau, tomahawked, and Mrs. Wilson and the other children bayoneted. Captain Wilson, when shot, fell into a bush, and the little boy in the confusion crawled away unnoticed into the scrub. He had wandered about sleeping in out-houses for several nights, often close to the enemy, and at last found his way back to what had been his home, and found the bodies of his father, brothers, and sisters, and on going into an out-house for shelter found his mother alive there.

She had been bayoneted in several places and beaten on the head with the butt of a rifle until they thought her dead. Later in the day she had recovered consciousness and crawled back to the house, where she got some water and then took refuge in the out-house, where two or three days later she was found by her son. She had since been kept alive by eggs and other things the child found by foraging round; but he had at last started to try to get assistance for her.

After hearing the child's story the party had galloped on to Captain Wilson's, and the poor lady had been found and carried to Taranganui. A few days later she was sent down to Napier by ship, but expired shortly after from the effects of her wounds.

In the week that elapsed between the date of the massacre and their return to the settlement Wilfrid had regained his strength wonderfully, and the bracing air of the hills and the excitement of the events through which he passed had acted as a complete restorative. Mr. Atherton too had completely recovered from his fatigue, and, indeed, professed himself to have benefited greatly by them, as he maintained that in three days he had lost as many stone of flesh. The morning after their return to Taranganui they had a long talk about their plans. It was settled that Mrs. Renshaw should at once return home. She was most anxious that Wilfrid should accompany her; but this he would not consent to.

"No, mother," he said; "it is my duty, and everyone's duty, to aid in hunting down these murderous scoundrels. They have massacred a number of people who were very kind to me when I first became ill, and I will do my best to punish them; besides, until Te Kooti's band is destroyed there will be no peace or safety for any of the outlying settlements, and they are just as likely to make an attack on our settlement as any other; indeed, we are the nearest to them, therefore in fighting here I am fighting for the protection of our home."

Mr. Atherton also announced his intention of accompanying the column in pursuit of Te Kooti.

"I dislike fatigue amazingly," he said; "but for several reasons I feel myself bound to see this affair through to the end. In the first place they have attacked me and caused me to undergo great fatigue; in the second, they have murdered a number of my acquaintances; in the third place I have to look after this boy and see that he gets into no mischief; and, lastly, it really seems to me that a month or two of this sort of thing will absolutely reduce me to ordinary dimensions, a thing which I have for years given up even hoping for."

"Well, Wilfrid," Mrs. Renshaw said at last, "I suppose you must have your way. I do think that, as you say, it is the duty of everyone to do all that he can to punish the people who have committed these massacres upon defenceless people, and it is necessary for the safety of the settlement that Te Kooti's band shall be destroyed. It is very hard on us to know that our only son is fighting; but other men as well have to leave perhaps wives and children behind, and if only those without ties were to go the force would be a small one indeed. It is a comfort to me, Mr. Atherton, that you have made up your mind to go too. It sounds selfish of me to say so; but I suppose all mothers are selfish when their sons are concerned."

"I understand your feeling, Mrs. Renshaw, and it is quite natural. I do think that everyone who can carry a musket ought to join in this expedition, and I flatter myself that Wilfrid's rifle and mine are allies not to be despised. Anyhow, Mrs. Renshaw, I promise you that we will not do what are called rash things. We won't try to capture Te Kooti single-handed, and I think that we can be much more useful covering an attack than leading an assault."

Accordingly, two days later Mrs. Renshaw embarked on a coaster for the Mohaka River, and Mr. Atherton and Wilfrid announced to Lieutenant Gascoyne that they would accompany his force as volunteers.

"I am heartily glad to hear it," that officer replied. "I have heard from Wylie of your defence of that pass against the Hau-Haus, and yesterday I had a talk with Sampson, who is getting round now, and he gave me the history of the affair, and from what he says you and Renshaw must have killed at least twenty Hau-Haus, for Sampson admits that he is not much of a shot and had a very small share in the total."

"Yes; we can both shoot indifferently well," Mr. Atherton said carelessly, "and can both be trusted to hit a Maori if we see him within about four hundred yards of us. I fancy that we may be of service to you in keeping down the fire of the enemy if you are attacking a pah. There is nothing cows fellows so much as finding that it is certain death to raise their heads from behind shelter to take aim. Of course we shall be ready generally to obey orders, but that is the special work we join for. You see, Renshaw is but just recovering from illness, and my build unsuits me for violent exertion. So if you want to storm a steep hill you must not count on us being with you except so far as shooting goes."

"Well, I will take you on your own terms," Lieutenant Gascoyne said smiling. "Mrs. Sampson told me yesterday how disinclined you were for violent exertion, and how she had to help you along on that journey to Te Mahia."

Mr. Atherton laughed. "There are exceptions to all rules," he said. "I am a peaceful botanist, but I had to fight. I hate exertion, but on that occasion I was forced to make an effort, and terribly knocked up I was over it. If it becomes absolutely necessary I may have to make an effort again, but I consider it altogether outside my province."

The expedition started on the following morning, the 20th of November. It consisted of nearly six hundred natives belonging to the Napier tribes, the Mahia and Marsuwai tribes. The next day they came upon the rear-guard of the Hau-Hau tribes of Patutahi and shot two of them. Great quantities of booty which the Hau-Haus were unable to carry away were found there, together with the bodies of several friendly natives. The next day another encampment was come upon, and here the carts taken from the plundered farms were found. At dusk on the 23d the column came up with the main body of the enemy, who were encamped on the Te Karetua Creek.

A heavy fire was opened on both sides, and the natives then charged, but were driven back with a loss of five killed and twelve wounded. Mr. Atherton and Wilfrid, who were walking leisurely in the rear of the column when it came on the enemy, arrived too late to take any part in the fight. After the repulse the friendly natives took up a position on a ridge overlooking the Hau-Hau positions, and distant twelve hundred yards from it. Rifle-pits were dug, and for the next week firing was kept up by both sides, with occasional skirmishes as one party or the other tried to take the offensive, but neither cared to try a determined attack on the other.

The Hau-Haus had lost twenty men during the first day's fighting and suffered more in the distant firing, especially whenever they gathered as if for an attack, than did the friendlies. This was owing in no small degree to the accuracy of Mr. Atherton's fire. He had got some of the natives to dig a rifle-pit three or four hundred yards down the hill in front of their position, and here he and Wilfrid ensconced themselves every morning before daybreak, taking down with them their provisions for the day, and from this point they galled the Hau-Haus greatly with their fire. Wilfrid knew that his shooting could not be depended upon at this distance; but Mr. Atherton had been accustomed to fire at long ranges, and although at eight hundred yards his rifle was not accurate he did considerable execution, and so alarmed the Hau-Haus that they scarcely dared to move by daylight from one part of their intrenchment to the other. The friends always left their shelter and retired to camp as soon as the sun set.

The Hau-Haus were not, however, idle. A party of sixty men made a long circuit and came down in rear of the column, captured the depot at Patutahi with eight kegs of ammunition and a great quantity of provisions, and also seized a number of pack animals on the way up. On the 3d of December the force was strengthened by the arrival of the chiefs Rapata and Hotene, with three hundred and seventy men from Te Wairoa. These chiefly belonged to the Ngatiporou tribe, who were far better fighters than the Napier or Mahia men.

As soon as the reinforcements had arrived it was decided at once to dislodge the enemy from a hill of which they had possession, and then to make a general attack on the intrenchments. Forty men of the Wairoa tribe under Mr. Preece made a dashing attack on the hill, and just as they carried it Rapata sent a message to him to say that his tribesmen were annoyed by the enemy's shot falling into their camp, and were therefore determined to attack at once. That tribe sallying out, carried two of the enemy's outworks with a rush, and drove the Hau-Haus back to their last line of rifle-pits near the river. Here they were attacked by the Wairoa men on the left, Rapata in the centre, and the tribesmen from Napier on the right. The assailants carried the intrenchment and drove the Hau-Haus across the river, these suffering heavy loss from the firing of the left column, who from their position commanded the course of the stream.

Unfortunately this fire, though destructive to the enemy, was to a certain extent in their favour, for it prevented the close pursuit of Rapata's men. Thirty-four Hau-Haus, including three of their fighting chiefs, were found dead. Te Kooti himself had a narrow escape. He was still suffering from his wound in the ankle, and was carried up the bed of the creek on a woman's back. A great quantity of the loot taken from the settlers was recaptured, and many of the friendly natives held prisoners by the Hau-Haus escaped during the fight. Mr. Atherton and Wilfrid had joined Rapata's men in their charge, and after the fight was over the former said: "Well, Wilfrid, it is a satisfaction to have got some natives with us at last who will fight. It seemed at first as if all the plucky natives had joined the enemy; but Rapata's men are first-rate fellows, though I wish that they had rather an easier name, for Ngatiporou is a crack-jaw word to pronounce."

Unfortunately a quarrel arose after the battle between Rapata's men and the Napier tribesmen, and three hundred of the latter went off. The next morning Rapata and his tribe, with the remaining Wairoa men, marched out to attack the position the enemy occupied on the top of a hill two miles away. Mr. Preece led the advanced party, and found the defences consisted of two lines of strong earthworks extending across a flat shoulder, either end resting on a cliff. Mr. Preece halted his men until Rapata came up with the main body. Wilfrid and Mr. Atherton had attached themselves to the Ngatiporou. Just as they joined Mr. Preece one of the men fired off a gun, and the enemy answered with a heavy volley. Instantly a panic set in, and the whole force, with the exception of some sixteen or eighteen men, bolted. One of the chiefs under Mr. Preece followed and managed to stop them, and persuaded them to wait until Rapata could return to them. This they agreed to do, but refused positively to return to the attack.

Mr. Preece returned to Rapata, who was in a state of fury at the defection of his tribe. "We will go on and attack the place by ourselves," he said. "Perhaps the cowards will come up when they hear we are fighting." Mr. Preece at once agreed, and the party, consisting of the two leaders, Mr. Atherton and Wilfrid, and fourteen of Rapata's men, worked back through the low scrub until between twenty-five yards of the first line of earthworks, when they opened fire upon the enemy.

"This is rather close work, Wilfrid," Mr. Atherton said. "We have the best of it in some respects, because they cannot make out our position among the bushes, and they are obliged to stand up and show their heads above the parapet when they fire. We ought never to miss them at this distance, and we will soon teach them that it is fatal to pause a moment to take aim, so at the worst they will only blaze away at random."

For some time the fight continued, and then Rapata requested Mr. Preece to go down the hill and bring up some more men. Only nine men would follow Mr. Preece, and Rapata was so disgusted that he himself went down for some distance and managed to get thirty more. One of the men had brought a bill up with him, and with this shallow rifle-pits were dug among the bushes, affording a shelter to the men as they lay flat while loading. At three o'clock in the afternoon the chief called on his tribesmen to follow him, and, leaping up, they dashed at one of the outposts and carried it. A man took the news down the hill, and a chief and thirty more men came up and joined in the fight.

At dusk Rapata requested Mr. Preece to return to camp and try to get the main body back with ammunition, as their own was almost exhausted. Mr. Preece could not induce the natives to start, but they said they would go in the morning. All night the fight went on, but before dawn Rapata, having expended his last round of ammunition, retired, having lost six men killed and four wounded. As he and his men came down they strode through the camp in single file, not deigning to take the slightest notice of the fugitives, and passing on, camped apart half a mile further on. The main body, ashamed of their cowardly conduct, were afraid to go near the chief. As it was necessary to ascertain what he meant to do, one of the white officers went to see him.

For some time the chief would make no reply. At last he said, "My men have betrayed me, and I will have nothing further to do with them. I intend to return home and get other men, and when I get back I will attack the Napier tribe who deserted me." The same day he marched for the coast, followed at a distance by the abashed fugitives. On the way down they met Colonel Whitmore, who with three hundred constabulary had just arrived by ship from the scene of operations on the other side of the island.

The colonel begged Rapata to return with him, but the chief said, "I never break my word. I have said I will go home, and I will; but I will return with other men and attack the Napier tribes." After much persuasion Colonel Whitmore got him to promise that he would not interfere with the Napier men; but nothing could persuade him to fight again with those men of his own tribe who had deserted him. Such being the case, a steamer was placed at his disposal in order that he might make the voyage and return as soon as possible.

After Rapata had left Colonel Whitmore sent out a skirmishing party to ascertain whether the enemy retained their position. The scouts returned with the news that there were great fires on the crest of the hill, and they believed that the Hau-Haus were burning their huts preparatory to returning into the interior. Colonel Whitmore believed the report, and considering that the Hau-Haus would leave the neighbourhood of the settlement altogether, he ordered the constabulary to march down to the coast again as soon as possible and re-embark there, as their presence was urgently required in the north of the province of Wellington, which had been left open to the attack of the enemy there by their withdrawal.

Fortunately before they re-embarked Te Kooti showed his hand. He had no idea of retreating from his position, and the fires were caused by the clearing off of the scrub which had afforded shelter to Rapata's force. No sooner did he hear that Colonel Whitmore had marched away than he sent a party down against one of the outlying settlements, where they murdered Mr. Ferguson, Mr. Wylie's son, and a friendly native. Colonel Whitmore, on receiving news of the raid, marched rapidly to cut off the retreat of the Hau-Haus; but they managed to evade him and to retire to their main body.

On the 27th of December Colonel Whitmore's force occupied a high ridge a mile distant from Te Kooti's position. Here the colonel received news that Rapata had just landed with three hundred and seventy men, and messenger after messenger was sent down urging him to hurry up. The chief, who was seriously ill, was much annoyed by these messages, especially by the last, that if he did not come soon Whitmore would take the place without him. Rapata replied: "Very well, I have tried and failed; it is his turn now;" and immediately ordered his men to camp for the day.

The next morning Colonel Whitmore came down himself, having been advised that the only way to succeed with Rapata was to treat him in a conciliatory way. The chief's first words were, "Have you taken the place?"

"No," Colonel Whitmore replied. "I am waiting for you, Rapata."

"Very good," Rapata said; "I will be with you to-morrow morning." The Ngatiporou performed a great war-dance, and as no one stumbled or fell, they considered the omen to be a good one, and marched on and joined Colonel Whitmore's force that night.

CHAPTER XVII.

BACK AT THE FARM.

The position of the Hau-Haus was naturally a very strong one, being at the top of a high conical peak rising abruptly from low bush-covered hills to a height of two thousand feet. On the face, which had been before attacked, the ground sloped gradually up to the summit, but on the right and left the slope was very steep, and at one point there had been a landslip leaving a perpendicular face twenty feet high, and below that, for fifty feet, it was so steep that it was difficult to get a footing. The ground in rear of the position narrowed into a razor-backed ridge down which a track led, with rope-ladders to aid the descent of the rock terraces.

The position in front, where alone it could be attacked, was defended by three lines of earthworks with high parapets, and with ditches in front abutting at either end on the steep slopes. The two lower works were seven feet high, the upper work was nearly fourteen feet high, with sandbag loopholes to enable the defenders to fire through. Each line was connected with the one above it by covered ways. Operations commenced by the advance of the Arawa division of the constabulary, and a portion of the Ngatiporou under Rapata. Advancing quietly and cautiously they came upon a party of the enemy engaged in carrying up water. They drove them up to the pah and took possession of the only water available.

Rifle-pits were now dug and pushed forward gradually until within a hundred yards of the enemy's first lines of defence. Number seven division of the constabulary were now sent up, and these threw up a long line of trenches parallel to the enemy's works; and the artillerymen having with great exertion brought up a mortar, a vertical shell-fire was opened upon the enemy's position with great effect; although to get them to the spot these shells had to be carried on the men's backs for three miles over some terrific ravines. A hundred constabulary under Colonel Fraser and a hundred Ngatiporou were sent round to cut off the enemy's retreat in rear. Another division of constabulary under Major Roberts connected the two parties, and thus all escape of the enemy was cut off, with the exception of the small piece of cliff, seventy yards in length, which was believed impossible to descend, and was moreover exposed to a flanking fire from Rapata's force in front and that of Colonel Fraser in the rear.

For some days heavy firing went on, and the hardships suffered by the force were great, for the rain fell without intermission. There were many casualties on both sides. Captain Brown of the constabulary was killed, and Captain Cabel of the same corps severely wounded. Colonel Fraser's men pushed up the ridge in the enemy's rear, and formed rifle-pits near the summit from which the Hau-Haus made desperate but vain attempts to repel them. On the 4th of January Rapata, after consultation with Colonel Whitmore, determined to storm the lower line of earthworks.

He told off fifty picked men, and sent them round with instructions to scale the cliff at the point where the parapet ended. The work was a dangerous and difficult one, for the cliff was very steep and gravelly, and the Hau-Haus crowded to the end of the trench and fired down, wounding five of the stormers. But to do this they had to expose themselves, and suffered severely from the fire of the men told off to cover the attack. Finally the Ngatiporou succeeded in climbing up under the outer face of the parapet, which they cut through with their spades, and opening a raking fire upon the Hau-Haus drove them out and took possession of the first line of defence.

All night a sap was carried upwards towards the second line, with the intention of blowing up the earthworks and storming the main works next morning, and two hundred picked men were assembled in the trenches ready to attack at daybreak. But at two o'clock in the morning a woman cried out from within the pah that the Hau-Haus had all left leaving only some wounded men and women and children. Her words were not at first believed, and they were considered to be only a ruse to induce the assailants to advance up the hill under the enemy's fire. But at daybreak it was found that the news was true, that the whole of the Hau-Haus had escaped, by means of ropes, down the face of the perpendicular cliff.

Rapata with his men started in pursuit. He followed the Hau-Hau trail for some distance, and then scattered his men in small parties as he guessed that the enemy would scatter in search of food. A hundred and twenty of the Hau-Haus were overtaken and killed, and Rapata returned after an absence of two days. By this time the whites and constabulary had left, as the work had now been done and the constabulary were urgently needed elsewhere. Rapata marched back by a circuitous way, captured eighty more prisoners, men, women, and children, whom he brought alive down into the settlement. Te Kooti had lost altogether during the siege and pursuit a hundred and fifty of his men, but he was still believed in by the natives, three tribes joining him at once, more than making up for the loss he had suffered.

Mr. Atherton and the other volunteers with Colonel Whitmore's force had taken but small share in the second attack upon Te Kooti's position, not being attached to any regular force. Rapata had been greatly struck with the coolness of Mr. Atherton and Wilfrid in his first attack, and astonished at the accuracy of their shooting, and had greeted them very heartily on his return, and invited them to act with his force. They had, therefore, during the siege taken up their position in some rifle-pits in the rear of his party, and from here had done great service to the Ngatiporou by covering them from the enemy's fire, for the Hau-Haus soon learned that it was almost certain death to stand up to take a steady aim above the parapet.

After the defeat of the Hau-Haus many of the natives of Poverty Bay who had joined Te Kooti, and taken a prominent part in the massacres, deserted him, and calmly returned to the settlement as if nothing had taken place, and the authorities allowed them to remain unmolested. The settlers, justly indignant that men who had so lately murdered women and children should be allowed to come down among them with impunity, formed themselves into a vigilance committee, and some of them who had lost relatives in the massacre bound themselves by oath to shoot the next party of ruffians who made their appearance.

An opportunity soon offered. A native who had assisted in murdering Mr. Wylie's son came in, and was shot by Mr. Benson. The following morning, to his astonishment, Benson was warned to attend as juryman at the inquest of his victim. In vain he assured the native constable that he was the man who had done the deed, and that he ought not therefore to sit. The constable refused to entertain the excuse, and so Benson not only sat on his own trial but gave evidence against himself, and the jury, among whom was Mr. Atherton, having heard his statement, brought in the following verdict: "We find that the deceased was shot by some person unknown, and served him right."

The day after this verdict was returned Mr. Atherton and Wilfrid, who had been waiting ten days for a coasting craft, sailed for the Mohaka river, and, landing at Mr. Mitford's, borrowed two horses from him, and were soon at The Glade.

"I am afraid I am heavy on a horse still, Wilfrid," Mr. Atherton said as they started, "but this animal may be thankful that I did not ride him the last time I was here. I calculate I must be at least four stone lighter than I was."

"You certainly have lost a good deal of flesh, Mr. Atherton. I almost wonder that you did not continue with our friend Rapata. He declares that he will follow up Te Kooti till he catches him if it takes him a couple of years."

"No, no, Wilfrid," Mr. Atherton laughed, "it is possible to have too much of a good thing. I might jog along with a colonial force well enough and benefit by it, but Rapata and his men would kill me in a week. I do not think those fellows know what it is to be tired. No, I am very well contented, and I intend to do no end of work in the woods and keep myself down to my present weight. There is an immense deal to be done in the way of botanizing. I have already found twelve new sorts of ferns, and I have only just begun, and have not even looked at the orchids yet or the mosses."

"I should have thought, Mr. Atherton, that it would have been well worth your while to go in for collecting and sending home rare and new plants, instead of merely drying specimens for your herbarium. I know new orchids fetch a tremendous price, because a gentleman near us at home had a large house full of them, and I know he used to pay what seemed to me prodigious prices for little scraps of plants not a bit more beautiful than the others, simply because they were rare."

"The idea is a very good one, Wilfrid, and I will think it over. I have never gone in for collecting in that way, for my income has been amply sufficient for my wants, but there can be no doubt that in these days, when people are ready to give such large sums for rare plants, a botanist like myself might make a really good thing of it out here. The woods are literally crowded with rare plants, and it would add to the interest of my excursions. As it is now I simply look for new species, and even here these are hard to discover; but if I took to getting rare specimens for sending home, there would be an unlimited field of work for me. Of course the difficulty is getting them home alive, for in a country like this, where there is practically no winter, they are never in an entirely quiescent state, and would require the most careful packing in cases specially constructed for them, and would need attention on the voyage. Still all this might be managed, and a steward might be paid well to take them under his charge.

"Well, I will think it over, Wilfrid. Your idea certainly seems a good one, and if it pays the great horticulturalists to send out skilled men to collect plants for them from all parts of the world, it should certainly pay me, who am living in the centre of one of the most varied groups of vegetation in the world, to send home consignments."

Ten minutes later they rode into the clearing. A loud whoop of welcome was heard as they appeared, and Jack came tearing down from the house to meet them. A moment later Marion appeared at the door, and she too came flying towards them. Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw also appeared on the verandah.

"I need not ask you how you are, my boy," Mr. Renshaw said as Wilfrid, who had leapt from his horse as Marion ran up, hastened forward with her to the house. "Your mother has told us so much about your illness that I hardly anticipated seeing you looking a picture of health. Mr. Atherton, I am delighted to see you. My wife has told me how much we all owe to you both for your care of Wilfrid and for having brought him and my wife safely out of the hands of the natives."

"I am very glad that I was able to be of some little service, Mr. Renshaw. It is quite as pleasant, you know, to be able to aid as it is to be aided, so we will look upon the obligation as mutual. Wilfrid has invited me to take up my quarters here for a day or two until my shanty is put in order again."

"It would be a pleasure to us if you would take up your abode here permanently," Mr. Renshaw said as Mr. Atherton dismounted from his horse and the two men rung each other's hands warmly. "Jack, take the two horses round to the shed. And now come in. Fortunately dinner is just ready, and I have no doubt you are ready too."

Wilfrid was struck with the change that had come over his father since he had been away. He looked better and stronger than he had ever seen him before, and spoke with a firmness and decision quite new to him. Mr. Renshaw, finding the whole responsibility of the farm upon his shoulders, had been obliged to put aside his books and to throw himself into the business with vigour. At first the unusual exertion involved by being out all day looking after things had tried him a good deal, but he had gained strength as he went on, and had even come to like the work. The thought that his wife and Wilfrid would be pleased to find everything going on well had strengthened him in his determination to stick to it, and Marion had, as far as the house work allowed her, been his companion when about the farm, and had done her best to make the evenings cheerful and pleasant. They had had a terribly anxious time of it during the week between the arrival of the news of the massacre at Poverty Bay and Mrs. Renshaw's return; but after that their life had gone on quietly, although, until the news of the capture of Te Kooti's fortress had arrived, they had naturally been anxious about Wilfrid's safety.

"I AM AFRAID I AM HEAVY ON A HORSE STILL, WILFRID"

Page 325

"You are looking wonderfully well and sunburnt, father," the lad said as they sat at dinner.

"Your father has been out from morning until night, Wilfrid, managing the farm," Mrs. Renshaw said with a glad smile, "and I do think the exercise has done him a great deal of good."

"I am sure it has, mother," Wilfrid agreed. "I am afraid the book has not made much progress, father, since I have been away."

"It has made no progress at all, Wilfrid, and I do not suppose it ever will. Science is all very well when a man can afford to make it his hobby, but I have come to the conclusion that a man has no right to ride a hobby while his family have to work to make a living."

"But we were all glad to work, father," Wilfrid said. "And now I am back again there is no reason why you should not return to your work."

"No, Wilfrid. I have been selfish a great deal too long, and indeed, now that I have broken myself into an active life out of doors, I have at present, at anyrate, no inclination to take to the pen again. I feel better than I have done for years, and am astonished myself at the work I can get through. As to my appetite, I eat twice as much as I used to, and really enjoy my food. Since the day we heard of the failure of the bank the burden has all been on your shoulders, Wilfrid, and your mother's. I am going to take my share of it in the future. As to the book, someone else must write it. I do not suppose it would ever have really paid. I almost wonder now how I could have thought that I out here could have derived any satisfaction from knowing that my work was praised by scientific men at home; besides, to do it properly a man must live among the natives, must travel all over the island and gather the traditions current in every tribe. That I could not do, and if I could have no inclination for it. I have been thinking that I shall ask Mr. Atherton to teach me a little botany, so that I can enjoy a little more intelligently than I can now do the wonders of our forest."

"That I will gladly do, Mr. Renshaw. I am sure it would add greatly to the enjoyment of your life here to become acquainted with the secrets of the marvellous vegetation around. It is extraordinary to me that men should be content to remain in ignorance of the names of even the principal trees and shrubs that meet their eye at every turn. There is not one settler in a hundred can tell you the names of a score of trees in the island. While I have been away I have tried to get the native names of many of the trees that are mostly to be met with, and only in one or two cases could I get any information, although some of the settlers have been living for years among them."

"And now, Mr. Atherton, about what I was saying just now, do not you think it would be more pleasant for you to erect a fresh hut close to ours instead of living by yourself away in the woods? It would be a great pleasure to all of us to have you with us. Your society would brighten our life here. We should have the assistance of your rifle in case the natives broke out again. You would, of course, live with us, but you would have your own hut to retire to when you liked to be alone. What do you say?"

"I say that it is a very kind offer, Mr. Renshaw, and it would certainly be very much more pleasant for me than living out there by myself at the mercy of a native cook. On the condition that you will allow me to pay my share of the expenses of housekeeping I will gladly accept your offer."

"The expenses of housekeeping are next to nothing, Mr. Atherton," Mrs. Renshaw laughed; "but if you make it a condition we must of course agree to your terms, and you shall be permitted to pay your quota to the expenses of the establishment; but I warn you that the amount will not be a heavy one."

"Heavy or light, I shall be glad to pay it, Mrs. Renshaw. The arrangement would be a delightful one for me, for although as a traveller I have necessarily been much alone, I am a gregarious animal, and fond of the company of mankind."

And so two days later a party of natives were set to work, and a hut was erected for Mr. Atherton twenty yards away from the house, and was soon fitted up as his other had been. Wilfrid had at once taken up his own work at the farm, but was now his father's right hand, instead of having, as before, everything on his shoulders.

The natives in the neighbourhood had now settled down again. From time to time news came that showed that the Hau-Hau rebellion was almost crushed. Colonel Whitmore, having finally completely subdued the Hau-Hau tribes in the north of Wellington and Taranaki, had marched with a strong force divided into four columns and severely punished all the tribes that had joined Te Kooti in the north-eastern part of the island. Te Kooti himself, after perpetrating several other massacres of settlers, was a fugitive, hotly hunted by Rapata, who gave him no rest, surprising him several times, and exterminating the last remnants of the band who had escaped with him from the Chatham Islands. Te Kooti himself was now believed to be hiding somewhere in the Waikato country; but he was no longer dangerous, his schemes had utterly failed, his pretensions had even in the native eyes been altogether discredited, and all who had adhered to him had either been killed or punished by the destruction of their villages and clearings. There was not the slightest chance that he would ever again trouble the community.

The settlement on the Mohaka river had grown, and in six months after Wilfrid's return the whole of the land lying between the Allens' farm and Mr. Mitford's was taken up, and two or three families had settled beyond Mr. Atherton's holding. At The Glade everything went on prosperously—the animals multiplied, the crops were excellent, and, owing to the many settlers arriving and requiring food until they could raise it for themselves, much better prices were obtained for the produce, and it was no longer necessary to ship it to Napier or Wellington.

Although Mr. Atherton had not gone through any such fatigues as those that he had endured at Poverty Bay, he had continued steadily to decrease in weight. Feeling himself so much lighter and more active on the return from the expedition, he had continued to stick to long and regular exercise, and was out every day, with a native to carry his tin collecting-boxes, his presses, axe, and trowel, from breakfast-time until dark. As he steadily refused to take any food with him, and fasted from breakfast-time till supper, the prolonged exercise in the close heat of the woods did its work rapidly, and at the end of a year from the date of his taking up his abode at The Glade he could no longer be called a stout man, and new-comers looked with admiration at his broad shoulders and powerful figure.

"When I first came to New Zealand," he said, "I thought it probable that I should only stay here a few weeks, or at most a few months, and I had a strong doubt whether it would repay my trouble in coming out here. Now I am sure that it was the very best step I ever took. I weighed the other day at Mitford's, and I did not turn eighteen stone, which is nothing out of the way for a man of my height and size. Last time I weighed I pulled down six-and-twenty. When I go back to England I shall stick to my two meals a day, and go in regularly for racquets and horse exercise."

"And when is that going to be, Mr. Atherton?" Wilfrid asked.

"I have not settled yet, Wilfrid. I have been longer stationary here than I have been in any place since I left college. Occasionally I get a fit of longing to be back in London again, but it seldom lasts long. However, I suppose I shall yield to it one of these days."

"You are doing very well here, Mr. Atherton. You said only the other day that your consignment of plants had sold wonderfully, and that you expected to make nearly a thousand pounds this year."

"That is true enough, Wilfrid; but you see, unfortunately or fortunately, whichever way you like to put it, the thousand pounds are of no importance to me one way or the other. I am really what is generally considered to be a rich man, and from the day I left England, now just two years ago, my income has been simply accumulating, for beyond the two or three pounds a month your mother lets me pay her I spend absolutely nothing."

"It must be very dull for you here, Mr. Atherton, accustomed as you have been to be always either travelling or in London, to be cut off from the world with only just our society, and that of the Allens and Mitfords, and two or three neighbours."

"I do not look dull, do I, Mrs. Renshaw?" Mr. Atherton laughed.

"No; I have never seen you dull since I knew you, Mr. Atherton, not even when you were toiling along exhausted and worn out with that child on your shoulders and the weight of the helpless man on your arms. We shall miss you awfully when you do go; shall we not, Marion?" Marion was now nineteen, and had developed, as Wilfrid told her in some surprise—for brothers seldom think their sisters good-looking—into a very pretty girl.

"It is not coming just yet," Mr. Atherton said; "but I have, I think, pretty well exhausted the forest for a distance of fifty miles round, and now that things are settling down I shall take more extensive trips to the mountains in the north-east and the Waikato country, and the strip of land lying north of Auckland. I have never been absent above two or three days at a time; but in future I may be away for weeks. But this will always be my head-quarters, Mrs. Renshaw. You see, your husband is becoming a formidable rival of mine here, so I must be off to pastures new."

"You know he did not want to send things home, Mr. Atherton. It was only because you insisted that he did so."

"I am very glad that I did insist, Mrs. Renshaw. As you know, I only went into the trade of plants to give me something to do on my rambles besides looking for new species; but I am sure it has been a capital thing for him. He has always been accustomed to use his brain, and although he now takes a lively interest in farm work, he would in time have found a certain void if he had not taken up this new hobby. As it is, it gives him plenty of out-door work, and is not only interesting, but pays well; and now that he is thoroughly acquainted with the botany of this part of the island, and knows which things are worth sending home, and the price he can depend upon getting for them, he will make a far larger income out of it than he could do from farming. Wilfrid will be quite capable of looking after the interests of the farm."

Another year passed. The clearings at The Glade had been greatly enlarged; but clumps of bush had been judiciously left so as to preserve its sylvan appearance, the long operation of fencing in the whole property had been accomplished, and the number of horses, cattle, and sheep had so increased that the greater part were now sent to graze on Maori land, a small rate per head being paid to the natives. Mr. Atherton had come and gone many times, and had now almost completed his study of the botany of the island. Mr. Renshaw had altogether abandoned the management of the farm to Wilfrid, and devoted himself entirely to the collection of ferns, orchids, and other plants, receiving handsome cheques in return for the consignment sent to England by each vessel that sailed from Wellington or Napier. He had agents at each of these towns, who made arrangements with the stewards of the ships for taking care of the plants on their way home, their remuneration being dependent upon the state in which the consignment arrived in England.

Settlers were now established on both sides of the river for miles above The Glade, and as among these were several who had been officers in the army, or professional men who had come out for the benefit of their families, there was now much cheerful society, and The Glade occupied the same leading position in that part of the settlement that Mr. Mitford's had done on the lower river when they first arrived.

James Allen had now been a year married to the eldest of the Miss Mitfords. His brother had been decidedly refused by Marion when he proposed to her, much to the surprise of her father and mother, who had seen from the frequent visits of their neighbour during the past year how things were going with him, while Wilfrid had been quite indignant at her rejection of his friend.

"Girls are extraordinary creatures," he said to his sister. "I had quite made up my mind for the last six months that you and Bob were going to make a match of it, and thought what a jolly thing it would be to have you settled next to us. I am sure I do not know what you want more. You have known him for three years. He is as steady as possible, and safe to get on well, and as nice a fellow as I know."

"He is all that, Wilfrid, but you see I don't want to marry him. I like him very much in the same way you like him, but I don't like him well enough for that."

"Oh, I suppose you want a wandering prince in disguise," Wilfrid grumbled. "That is the way with girls; they always want something that they cannot get."

"My dear Wilfrid," Marion said with spirit, "when I take to lecturing you as to whom you are to marry it will be quite time for you to take to lecturing me; but until I do I cannot allow that you have any right in the matter."

It was seldom indeed that brother and sister differed in opinion about anything, and seeing a tear in Marion's eye Wilfrid at once gave in and admitted himself to be wrong.

"Of course it is no business of mine, Marion, and I beg your pardon. I am sure I should not wish for a moment that you should marry anyone but the man that you choose for yourself. I should certainly have liked you to have married Bob Allen, but, if you do not fancy him, of course there is an end of it."

This was not the only offer that Marion had received during the year, for there were several young settlers who would have been glad to have installed her as the mistress of their homesteads; but they had each met with the same fate that had now befallen Bob Allen.

The next time Mr. Atherton came back he said, "I have taken my last ramble and gathered my last plant."

"What! are you going home?" Mrs. Renshaw exclaimed.

"Yes, I am going home," he said more seriously than he usually spoke. "I have been away three years now, and have pretty thoroughly ransacked the island. I have discovered nearly eighty new species of plants and two or three entirely new families, so I have done enough for honour; besides, I am wanted at home. An old aunt has died and has left me a considerable sum of money, just because I had plenty of my own before, I suppose. It is another instance of female perversity. So I have had a letter from my solicitor saying that I am really wanted; but in any case I should have gone now or in another month or two. I begin to feel that I have had enough of wandering, and at thirty-eight it is time to settle down if you are ever going to do so."

There was a silence round the table as he ceased speaking, for all felt that the loss would be a serious one, and although Mr. Atherton had tried to speak lightly they could see that he too felt the approaching end of their close friendship.

"Are you going to start at once?" Mr. Renshaw asked.

"No, I shall give myself a fortnight or three weeks before I sail. I have all the plants I gathered this time to dry and prepare properly; besides, I should like a quiet stay with you before I say good-bye. You see, I have not seen much of you during the last year."

Nothing further was said on the subject, which none of them liked to touch on. For the next two days the house seemed strangely quiet.

"By the way, what has become of young Allen?" Mr. Atherton said at dinner on the third day. "You told me every one was well, so I suppose he is away from home, as I have not seen him since I came, and he used to be a very regular visitor." There was a momentary silence and then Mrs. Renshaw said:

"I do not think he is away from home, though he may be, for he was talking the other day of looking out for a fresh piece of land for himself. Now that his brother is married I suppose it is only natural that he should think of setting up for himself. The farm is of course their joint property, but I suppose they will make some arrangement for his brother to take over his share."

"Naturally," Mr. Atherton agreed, "young Allen would not care about remaining now that his brother is married. When one of two partners marries it generally breaks up the partnership, and besides, he will of course be wanting to have a place of his own, and the holding is not large enough to divide."

After dinner Wilfrid strolled out with Mr. Atherton.

"I daresay you saw, Mr. Atherton, that your question about Bob Allen fell rather as a bomb-shell among us. There is no reason why you, who are a great friend, should not know the truth. The fact is, to my astonishment, Marion has thought proper to refuse Bob Allen. I was never more surprised in my life. I had always looked upon it as certain that she would accept him, especially as she has refused three or four good offers this year. One never can understand girls."

Mr. Atherton was silent for a minute or two. Then he said:

"I thought too, Wilfrid, that it would have come off. I have always thought so. Well, well." Then after a pause he went on: "I had intended to go over in the morning to see him. I like the lad, and had an idea of offering to advance him a sum of money to set up in a place of his own without loss of time. Then the young couple would have had a fair start in life without having to wait two or three years or to go through the rough work at the first start in a settler's life. The money would of course have been nothing to me, and it would have been satisfactory to have lent a helping hand towards seeing your sister married and happy. And so she has refused him. Well, I will take a turn by myself, Wilfrid."

And to the young fellow's surprise Mr. Atherton turned off and started at a brisk pace up the glade.

"He is evidently as vexed at Marion's throwing over Bob Allen as I am," Wilfrid said to himself as he looked after him. "I wish he would give her a good talking to, she would think more of his opinion than she does of mine."

CHAPTER XVIII.

IN ENGLAND.

"I suppose you have not settled yet as to what ship you will return by, Atherton?" Mr. Renshaw asked as the party were gathered in the verandah in the evening.

"No," Mr. Atherton replied, absently watching the smoke of his cigar as it curled up, "nothing is at all settled; my plans seem to be quite vague now."

"What do you mean, Mr. Atherton?" Mrs. Renshaw asked in surprise, for Mr. Atherton's plans were generally mapped out very decidedly. "How is it that your plans are vague? I thought you said two days ago that you should go down to Wellington about the 20th."

"I did not mean to say that they were vague, Mrs. Renshaw; did I really say so?"

"Why, of course you did," Mrs. Renshaw said; "and it is not often that you are vague about anything."

"That shows that you do not understand my character, Mrs. Renshaw," Mr. Atherton said in his usual careless manner. "I am the vaguest of men—a child of chance, a leaf blown before the wind."

Wilfrid laughed. "It would have taken a very strong wind when we first knew you."

"I am speaking metaphorically, Wilfrid. I am at London, and the idea occurs to me to start for the Amazon and botanize there for a few months. I pack up and start the next morning. I get there and do not like the place, and say to myself it is too hot here, let me study the Arctic flora at Spitzbergen. If I act upon an idea promptly, well and good, but if I allow any time to elapse between the idea striking me and my carrying the thing into execution, there is never any saying whether I may not go off in an entirely different groove during the interval."

"And is there any chance of your going off in any other groove now, Atherton?" Mr. Renshaw asked.

"No, I think not; just a remote possibility perhaps, but not more than that. It is so indefinitely small, indeed, that you may—yes, I think you may safely calculate upon my starting on the day I said, or if I find a ship at Wellington going on a trading excursion among the islands, or up to the Straits, or to Japan, I may likely enough take a passage in her."

"But I thought you said that your business required you to be at home, Mr. Atherton?"

"Yes, I suppose that is so, Wilfrid; but I daresay my solicitor would manage it just as well if I did not turn up. Solicitors are people who, as far as I can see, consider it their duty to bother you, but if they find that you pay no attention to their letters they manage somehow or other to get on very well without you. I believe they go into a court and make affidavits, and get an order authorizing them to sign for you. I do not know how it generally is done, but that is my experience of them so far."

Marion had said little that evening, and had indeed been very quiet for the last few days. She was somewhat indignant at Wilfrid's interference in what she considered her affairs, and felt that although her father and mother had said nothing, they too were somewhat disappointed, and would have been glad had she accepted Bob Allen. Besides she had reasons of her own for being out of spirits. After breakfast the next morning Mr. Atherton said: "Marion, when you have finished your domestic duties and can be spared, suppose you put on your hat and come for a ramble with me."

There was nothing unusual in the request, for the girl often accompanied him in his rambles when he was not going far into the forest.

"I shall be ready in half an hour, if your highness can wait so long."

"I am in no hurry, child, and will smoke a pipe on the verandah until you are ready."

Marion always enjoyed these walks with Mr. Atherton. He was at all times a pleasant companion, and when alone with her always exerted himself to amuse her, though he sometimes vexed her by talking to her as if she were a child. To-day he was much more silent than usual, and more than once she looked up in wonder at his face as he walked along puffing at his pipe, with his hands deep in his jacket pockets and his eyes bent on the ground.

"A penny for your thoughts, Mr. Atherton," she said at last with a laugh. "It seems to me that you would have got on just as well without me."

"Well, I was just thinking that I was a fool to ask you to come with me, child." Marion opened her eyes in surprise. "You see, my dear," he went on, "we all make fools of ourselves sometimes. I started in life by making a fool of myself. I fell in love with a woman whom I thought perfection. She was an arrant flirt, and was only amusing herself with me till she hooked a young lord for whom she was angling. That was what sent me roaming for the first time; and, as you know, having once started I have kept it up ever since, that is till I came out here. I had intended to stay six months; I have been here three years. Why have I stopped so long? Simply, child, because I have again made a fool of myself. I do not think I was conscious of it for the first two years, and it was only when I saw, as I thought, that young Allen would win you, that I recognized that I, a man of thirty-seven, was fool enough to love a child just eighteen years younger than myself. At the same time I was not fool enough to think that I had the smallest chance. I could not stop here and watch another winning you, and at the same time I was so weak that I could not go away altogether; and so you see I compromised matters by going away for weeks and sometimes months at a time, returning with the expectation each time of hearing that it was settled. Now I hear that you have refused him, and, just as a drowning man grasps at a straw, I resolved to have my fate absolutely settled before I sail. Don't be afraid of saying 'no,' dear. I have never for a moment looked for any other answer, but I think that I would rather have the 'no' than go away without it, for in after years I might be fool enough to come to think that possibly, just possibly, the answer, had I asked the question, might have been 'yes.'"

He had stopped in his walk when he began to speak, and stood facing Marion, who had not raised her eyes while he was speaking. Then she looked frankly up in his face.

"Do you think I did not know," she said softly, "and didn't you really know too? You are not so wise a man as I thought you. Why, ever since I have known you it seems to me that—that—"

"That you have loved me, Marion; is it possible?" he said taking her hand.

"Of course it is possible," she said almost pettishly "how could I help it, I should like to know?"

Dinner had been waiting for some time before Mr. Atherton and his companion returned from their ramble.

"Twenty minutes late!" Wilfrid shouted as they approached the house; "have you been losing yourselves in the bush?"

"I think that it has been just the other way, Wilfrid," Mr. Atherton said as he came up to the group gathered in the verandah.

"How do you mean?" Wilfrid asked.

"I mean we have been finding each other."

"Finding each other," Wilfrid repeated vaguely. "Why, were you both lost?"

"I was, Wilfrid. Mrs. Renshaw, I have found your daughter, and am going, with your permission and that of her father, to keep her. I am a good bit older than she is, but as she says she does not mind that, I hope that you will not, and at least I can promise to do all in my power to make her happy."

"I am surprised, Mr. Atherton; surprised and glad too," Mrs. Renshaw said, while Mr. Renshaw grasped Mr. Atherton's hand and shook it heartily.

"My dear sir, there is no one in the world to whom I could intrust Marion's happiness so gladly and heartily. I own that it is a surprise to me, as well as to her mother, but we are both delighted at the choice she has made."

By this time Marion and her mother had gone indoors together. Wilfrid had not yet spoken, his surprise was still too great for words.

"Well, Wilfrid," Mr. Atherton said, turning to him, "I hope your disapproval of Marion's conduct on this occasion is not so great as it was when you were talking to me yesterday."

"I hardly know what to say yet, you have taken me so by surprise; but I am awfully glad—you know that, don't you? There is no one in the world I should like Marion to marry so much, only somehow it never occurred to me."

"That is natural enough, Wilfrid. However, now that it has occurred to you, and you approve of it, we must hope that Marion will be restored to your good graces again."

"I have been making an ass of myself," Wilfrid said penitently; "but you believe that I am awfully glad, don't you? I was disappointed about Bob, but then, you see, I never thought about you. Why, you must know, Mr. Atherton, what I think of you and how I care for you, and how I look up to you. Somehow it never seemed possible to me that a man like you could fall in love."

"And much more improbable still, Wilfrid, that your sister would fall in love with me. I understand you, lad. We have been very close friends for the last three years, haven't we? I have been something like a very big and very old brother to you, and now we are going to be brothers in earnest;" and their hands closed in a grip that spoke volumes for the sincerity and depth of their feelings. Then Wilfrid ran into the house and threw his arms round his sister.

"I have been an awful fool, Marion," he said; "but you see, I never dreamt of this."

"And you are really pleased, Wilfrid?"

"Pleased! I am delighted. Why, you know, I think he is the finest fellow in the world; and has he not done everything for us, and stood by me and nursed me, and carried me for miles, and saved mother's life and mine? But it never entered my mind that you had fallen in love with each other."

"I do not know why it shouldn't, Wilfrid. Why shouldn't I think as much of him as you do?"

"I do not know, I am sure, Marion; but I confess I never did think of it. Did you, mother?"

"Once or twice, Wilfrid. About a year ago it did cross my mind once or twice, but that was all. They say mothers are keen-sighted as far as their daughters are concerned; but either I am less keen-sighted than mothers in general, or Marion is deeper than other girls."

"Well, mother, we shall have lots of time to talk this over," Wilfrid said. "Dinner has been waiting nearly an hour, and even this wonderful business cannot have taken away all our appetites. Everything is ready; shall I call them in?" Wilfrid had, however, still a few minutes to wait, for the two men were engaged in earnest conversation outside.

When they came in at last Mr. Renshaw kissed his daughter fondly. "God bless you, my child!" he said. "You have made a wise choice indeed, and I am sure that you will be a very happy woman."

It was a quiet meal, for all were too happy to talk much. After it was over the two men strolled out together and renewed their conversation, and Mr. Renshaw presently called to his wife to join them. Marion had gone to her room, and Wilfrid was about to start to the other end of the farm when Mr. Atherton called him.

"Come and join our consultation, Wilfrid. You are as much concerned in it as any of us, and I rely upon your assistance to bring round these two very obstinate people to my side of the question. I should say our side, for of course Marion is one with me in the matter. You see, I am a rich man, Wilfrid—really a rich man, and I naturally wish that Marion should be made as happy as possible. I do not think she would be as happy as possible if she were in England with me, with a nice place in the country, and a town-house, and most things that money could bring her, if she knew that her father and mother were out here living a life which, although they have admirably adapted themselves to it, is yet very different to that to which they have been all their lives accustomed.

"Now, owing to this absurd freak of my aunt in making me her heir when my income was already five times as much as I could spend, I have the nuisance of a large landed estate on my hands. There is a large house upon it which I suppose Marion and I will have to occupy occasionally; and there is another house, which is known as the dower house, and which is a very snug and comfortable abode. Now, it is quite clear that I am the last sort of man to look after an estate. It would worry me most out of my mind, and would be a perpetual annoyance.

"What I propose is that your father and mother shall come home and take possession of the dower house, and that your father should act as my agent. Living on the spot, he would be able to keep an eye on the tenants, receive rents, and that sort of thing, and still be able to devote a considerable portion of his time to his favourite pursuits. I should have the advantage of having an agent I could absolutely rely upon, and Marion and I would have the comfort of having her father and mother close at hand. It would be a little lonely for you for a bit, Wilfrid; but you are nearly nineteen now, and will, unless I am mistaken, ere many years have passed be bringing a mistress to The Glade. I fancy you go over to Mitford's a good deal oftener than there is any absolute occasion for, and although Kate is only sixteen yet, I have a shrewd suspicion that you have both pretty well made up your minds about the future."

Wilfrid coloured and laughed. "I don't know that we are as far advanced as that; but I do hope that some day it may be as you say. But about this other affair. What do my father and mother say? It seems to me it would be a splendid arrangement."

"Of course it would, Wilfrid; a splendid arrangement, for Marion and me especially. That is what I am trying to persuade them; but your mother has developed quite a new line of obstinacy, and your father is just as bad."

"Don't you see, Wilfrid," Mrs. Renshaw said with tears in her eyes, "it is only an excuse on Mr. Atherton's—"

"Harry, my dear madam, Harry," Mr. Atherton interrupted. "We have arranged it is to be Harry in future."

"On Harry's part," Mrs. Renshaw went on, "to provide an income for us."

"But I have got to provide an income for someone," Mr. Atherton said. "There must be an agent to look after the property for me; necessarily that agent must have a salary; and why in the name of good sense should not your husband be that agent as well as anyone else?"

"But you are offering a great deal too high a salary," Mr. Renshaw urged. "You could get an excellent agent for less than half the sum you are talking about."

"Not at all," Mr. Atherton replied; "I must have a gentleman, both for my own sake and that of the tenants, and to get a gentleman of high character and perfectly trustworthy, I must necessarily pay him a good salary. I shall be a good deal in town, and my representative must therefore be able to occupy a good position in the county; besides, as I have told you, my income now, with this absurd addition, amounts to something like six thousand a year. Why, in the name of goodness, should I not be allowed, if I choose, to pay two or three hundred a year over market price to my agent when it will afford my wife the gratification of having her parents near her, and me the pleasure of having two dear friends as my next neighbours. Besides, The Glade will not be a bit too large for you when you marry, Wilfrid, and in that case either you will have to start in a fresh place and begin all your work over again, or your father would have to turn out to make room for you. I consider it preposterous. What do you say, Wilfrid?"

"I do think it would be a splendid arrangement, mother," Wilfrid answered. "You know well enough that I shall be very sorry to lose you and father; but it would be awfully nice for Marion, and I do think that though, as Mr. Atherton says, you and father have fallen in splendidly with your life here, the other would be in every way better suited to you. I can understand your feelings in the matter; but the same time I think that after Mr. Atherton having saved your life and mine, his feelings and wishes should influence you very much."

"If you hesitate any longer," Mr. Atherton said, "I shall go in and fetch Marion out. I have not told her about my plan yet, for in fact we had other things to talk about; but when I tell her, and she adds her voice to ours, I am sure you will not be able to refuse any longer."

Mrs. Renshaw exchanged a look with her husband. "It is not necessary," she said in a broken voice. "We accept, Harry."

"That is right," Mr. Atherton said as he wrung Mr. Renshaw's hand warmly, and then affectionately kissed Mrs. Renshaw. "Now we are going to be a very happy and united family. Now, go in and tell Marion."

"Tell her yourself," Mrs. Renshaw smiled, wiping her eyes; and Mr. Atherton took his way to the house.

Marion was indeed delighted with the news. The thought of leaving her mother and father behind had been the one drawback to her happiness. She had been her mother's right hand and her father's companion. She had thought how terribly they would miss her, and how, as years went on, they would, far more than now, feel the difference between their present life and that they had formerly led. The news that they would be always near her and settled in a comfortable home filled her with delight. A few minutes after Mr. Atherton entered the house she ran out to her father and mother and threw her arms fondly around them. "Is it not happiness, mother," she cried, "to think that we shall still be together?"

"If you are not a happy woman, child, it will be your own fault," her father said. "I consider you a marvellously lucky girl."

"As if I did not know that!" she replied, laughing through her tears.

Mr. Atherton did not sail quite so soon as he had intended. A church had recently been erected at the central settlement, and a clergyman established there, and a month after matters were settled between him and Marion their wedding was celebrated, almost every settler on the Mohaka being present. The newly-married couple returned to The Glade for a week, Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw and Wilfrid remaining as the guests of Mr. Mitford. At the end of that time they returned, and with Mr. and Mrs. Renshaw sailed for Napier, where they took ship for England.

"What would you have done if I had sailed away for England without ever mustering up courage to speak to you, Marion?" Mr. Atherton said as he stood by the bulwark with her that evening taking their last look at New Zealand.

"I should not have let you go, sir," his wife said saucily; "didn't I know that you cared for me, and had I not refused all sorts of offers for your sake? I don't know what I should have done, or what I should have said, but I am quite sure I should not have let you go unless I found that I had been making a mistake all along. It would have been ridiculous indeed to have sacrificed the happiness of two lives merely because you had some absurd ideas about your age."

"I never thought you cared for me, Marion, never."

"That is because you never took the trouble to find out," his wife retorted. "Men are foolish creatures sometimes, even the wisest of them."

Marion Atherton's life was one of almost perfect happiness. Mr. Atherton entirely gave up his wanderings abroad, and by dint of devotion to racquets and tennis in summer, and of hunting and shooting in winter, he kept down his tendency towards corpulence. He was an energetic magistrate, and one of the most popular men in the county. Mr. Renshaw resumed his former studies in archæology, but they were now the amusement instead of being the object of his life, and he made an excellent agent to his son-in-law. Standing in the relation he did to Mr. and Mrs. Atherton, he and Mrs. Renshaw shared in their popularity, and occupied a good position in the county.

Three years after their return to England they received the news that Kate Mitford had changed her name, and was installed as mistress at The Glade. Every five years Wilfrid and his wife, and as time went on his family, paid a visit to England. He became one of the leading men of the colony. A few years after his marriage Mr. and Mrs. Mitford had returned to England for good, and James Allen and Wilfrid succeeded to his business as a trader, and carried it on with energy and success, Mr. Atherton advancing Wilfrid sufficient capital to enable them to extend their business largely. In time The Glade became Wilfrid's summer residence only, the head-quarters of the firm being established at Napier. It is now conducted by his sons, he himself having returned home with his wife and daughters with a fortune amply sufficient to enable them to live at ease. Marion was pleased when, two years after her arrival in England, she heard from Wilfrid that Bob Allen had married the daughter of an officer settled on the Mohaka. The Grimstones both did well, and became prosperous farmers. Jack remained in Wilfrid's service until he left the colony, and is now a trusted agent of his sons in their dealings with the natives.

PRINTED AND BOUND IN GREAT BRITAIN

By Blackie & Son, Limited, Glasgow

Table of Contents

A Final Reckoning

Preface.

Chapter 1: The Broken Window.

Chapter 2: The Poisoned Dog.

Chapter 3: The Burglary At The Squire's.

Chapter 4: The Trial.

Chapter 5: Not Guilty!

Chapter 6: On The Voyage.

Chapter 7: Gratitude.

Chapter 8: A Gale.

Chapter 9: Two Offers.

Chapter 10: An Up-Country District.

Chapter 11: The Black Fellows.

Chapter 12: The Bush Rangers.

Chapter 13: Bush Rangers.

Chapter 14: An Unexpected Meeting.

Chapter 15: At Donald's.

Chapter 16: Jim's Report.

Chapter 17: In Pursuit.

Chapter 18: Settling Accounts.

G. A. Henty

A Final Reckoning

A Tale of Bush Life in Australia

Preface.

In this tale I have left the battlefields of history, and have written a story of adventure in Australia, in the early days when the bush rangers and the natives constituted a real and formidable danger to the settlers. I have done this, not with the intention of extending your knowledge, or even of pointing a moral, although the story is not without one; but simply for a change—a change both for you and myself, but frankly, more for myself than for you. You know the old story of the boy who bothered his brains with Euclid, until he came to dream regularly that he was an equilateral triangle enclosed in a circle. Well, I feel that unless I break away sometimes from history, I shall be haunted day and night by visions of men in armour, and soldiers of all ages and times.

If, when I am away on a holiday I come across the ruins of a castle, I find myself at once wondering how it could best have been attacked, and defended. If I stroll down to the Thames, I begin to plan schemes of crossing it in the face of an enemy; and if matters go on, who can say but that I may find myself, some day, arrested on the charge of surreptitiously entering the Tower of London, or effecting an escalade of the keep of Windsor Castle! To avoid such a misfortune—which would entail a total cessation of my stories, for a term of years—I have turned to a new subject, which I can only hope that you will find as interesting, if not as instructive, as the other books which I have written.

G. A. Henty.

Chapter 1: The Broken Window.

"You are the most troublesome boy in the village, Reuben Whitney, and you will come to a bad end."

The words followed a shower of cuts with the cane. The speaker was an elderly man, the master of the village school of Tipping, near Lewes, in Sussex; and the words were elicited, in no small degree, by the vexation of the speaker at his inability to wring a cry from the boy whom he was striking. He was a lad of some thirteen years of age, with a face naturally bright and intelligent; but at present quivering with anger.

"I don't care if I do," he said defiantly. "It won't be my fault, but yours, and the rest of them."

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," the master said, "instead of speaking in that way. You, who learn easier than anyone here, and could always be at the top of your class, if you chose. I had hoped better things of you, Reuben; but it's just the way, it's your bright boys as mostly gets into mischief."

At this moment the door of the school room opened, and a lady with two girls, one of about fourteen and the other eleven years of age, entered.

"What is the matter now?" the lady asked, seeing the schoolmaster, cane in hand, and the boy standing before him.

"Reuben Whitney! What, in trouble again, Reuben? I am afraid you are a very troublesome boy."

"I am not troublesome, ma'm," the boy said sturdily. "That is, I wouldn't be if they would let me alone; but everything that is done bad, they put it down to me."

"But what have you been doing now, Reuben?"

"I have done nothing at all, ma'm; but he's always down on me," and he pointed to the master, "and when they are always down on a fellow, it's no use his trying to do right."

"What has the boy been doing now, Mr. White?" the lady asked.

"Look there, ma'm, at those four windows all smashed, and the squire had all the broken panes mended only a fortnight ago."

"How was it done, Mr. White?"

"By a big stone, ma'm, which caught the frame where they joined, and smashed them all."

"I did not do it, Mrs. Ellison, indeed I didn't."

"Why do you suppose it was Reuben?" Mrs. Ellison asked the master.

"Because I had kept him in, half an hour after the others went home to dinner, for pinching young Jones and making him call out; and he had only just gone out of the gate when I heard the smash; so there is no doubt about it, for all the others must have been in at their dinner at that time."

"I didn't do it, ma'm," the boy repeated. "Directly I got out of the gate, I started off to run home. I hadn't gone not twenty yards when I heard a smash; but I wasn't going for to stop to see what it was. It weren't no business of mine, and that's all I know about it."

"Mamma," the younger of the two girls said eagerly, "what he says is quite true. You know you let me run down the village with the jelly for Mrs. Thomson's child, and as I was coming down the road I saw a boy come out of the gate of the school and run away; and then I heard a noise of broken glass, and I saw another boy jump over the hedge opposite, and run, too. He came my way and, directly he saw me, he ran to a gate and climbed over."

"Do you know who it was, Kate?" Mrs. Ellison asked.

"Yes, mamma. It was Tom Thorne."

"Is Thomas Thorne here?" Mrs. Ellison asked in a loud voice.

There was a general turning of the heads of the children to the point where a boy, somewhat bigger than the rest, had been apparently studying his lessons with great diligence.

"Come here, Tom Thorne," Mrs. Ellison said.

The boy slouched up with a sullen face.

"You hear what my daughter says, Tom. What have you to say in reply?"

"I didn't throw the stone at the window," the boy replied. "I chucked it at a sparrow, and it weren't my fault if it missed him and broke the window."

"I should say it was your fault, Tom," Mrs. Ellison said sharply—"very much your fault, if you throw a great stone at a bird without taking care to see what it may hit. But that is nothing to your fault in letting another boy be punished for what you did. I shall report the matter to the squire, and he will speak to your father about it. You are a wicked, bad boy.

"Mr. White, I will speak to you outside."

Followed by her daughters, Mrs. Ellison went out; Kate giving a little nod, in reply to the grateful look that Reuben Whitney cast towards her, and his muttered:

"Thank you, miss."

"Walk on, my dears," Mrs. Ellison said. "I will overtake you, in a minute or two.

"This will not do, Mr. White," she said, when she was alone with the master. "I have told you before that I did not approve of your thrashing so much, and now it is proved that you punish without any sufficient cause, and upon suspicion only. I shall report the case at once to the squire and, unless I am greatly mistaken, you will have to look out for another place."

"I am very sorry, Mrs. Ellison, indeed I am; and it is not often I use the cane, now. If it had been anyone else, I might have believed him; but Reuben Whitney is always in mischief."

"No wonder he is in mischief," the lady said severely, "if he is punished, without a hearing, for all the misdeeds of others. Well, I shall leave the matter in the squire's hands; but I am sure he will no more approve than I do of the children being ill treated."

Reuben Whitney was the son of a miller, near Tipping. John Whitney had been considered a well-to-do man, but he had speculated in corn and had got into difficulties; and his body was, one day, found floating in the mill dam. No one knew whether it was the result of intention or accident, but the jury of his neighbours who sat upon the inquest gave him the benefit of the doubt, and brought in a verdict of "accidental death." He was but tenant of the mill and, when all the creditors were satisfied, there were only a few pounds remaining for the widow.

With these she opened a little shop in Tipping, with a miscellaneous collection of tinware and cheap ironmongery; cottons, tapes, and small articles of haberdashery; with toys, sweets, and cakes for the children. The profits were small, but the squire, who had known her husband, charged but a nominal rent for the cottage; and this was more than paid by the fruit trees in the garden, which also supplied her with potatoes and vegetables, so that she managed to support her boy and herself in tolerable comfort.

She herself had been the daughter of a tradesman in Lewes, and many wondered that she did not return to her father, upon her husband's death. But her home had not been a comfortable one, before her marriage; for her father had taken a second wife, and she did not get on well with her stepmother. She thought, therefore, that anything would be better than returning with her boy to a home where, to the mistress at least, she would be most unwelcome.

She had, as a girl, received an education which raised her somewhat above the other villagers of Tipping; and of an evening she was in the habit of helping Reuben with his lessons, and trying to correct the broadness of dialect which he picked up from the other boys. She was an active and bustling woman, managed her little shop well, and kept the garden, with Reuben's assistance, in excellent order.

Mrs. Ellison had, at her first arrival in the village three years before, done much to give her a good start, by ordering that all articles of use for the house, in which she dealt, should be purchased of her; and she highly approved of the energy and independence of the young widow. But lately there had been an estrangement between the squire's wife and the village shopkeeper. Mrs. Ellison, whose husband owned all the houses in the village, as well as the land surrounding it, was accustomed to speak her mind very freely to the wives of the villagers. She was kindness itself, in cases of illness or distress; and her kitchen supplied soups, jellies, and nourishing food to all who required it; but in return, Mrs. Ellison expected her lectures on waste, untidiness, and mismanagement to be listened to with respect and reverence.

She was, then, at once surprised and displeased when, two or three months before, having spoken sharply to Mrs. Whitney as to the alleged delinquencies of Reuben, she found herself decidedly, though not disrespectfully, replied to.

"The other boys are always set against my Reuben," Mrs. Whitney said, "because he is a stranger in the village, and has no father; and whatever is done, they throw it on to him. The boy is not a bad boy, ma'm—not in any way a bad boy. He may get into mischief, like the rest; but he is not a bit worse than others, not half as bad as some of them, and those who have told you that he is haven't told you the truth."

Mrs. Ellison had not liked it. She was not accustomed to be answered, except by excuses and apologies; and Mrs. Whitney's independent manner of speaking came upon her almost as an act of rebellion, in her own kingdom. She was too fair, however, to withdraw her custom from the shop; but from that time she had not, herself, entered it.

Reuben was a source of anxiety to his mother, but this had no reference to his conduct. She worried over his future. The receipts from the shop were sufficient for their wants; and indeed the widow was enabled, from time to time, to lay by a pound against bad times; but she did not see what she was to do with the boy. Almost all the other lads of the village, of the same age, were already in the fields; and Mrs. Whitney felt that she could not much longer keep him idle. The question was, what was she to do with him? That he should not go into the fields she was fully determined, and her great wish was to apprentice him to some trade; but as her father had recently died, she did not see how she was to set about it.

That evening, at dinner, Mrs. Ellison told the squire of the scene in the school room.

"White must go," he said, "that is quite evident. I have seen, for some time, that we wanted a younger man, more abreast of the times than White is; but I don't like turning him adrift altogether. He has been here upwards of thirty years. What am I to do with him?"

Mrs. Ellison could make no suggestion; but she, too, disliked the thought of anyone in the village being turned adrift upon the world.

"The very thing!" the squire exclaimed, suddenly "We will make him clerk. Old Peters has long been past his work. The old man must be seventy-five, if he's a day, and his voice quavers so that it makes the boys laugh. We will pension him off. He can have his cottage rent free, and three or four shillings a week. I don't suppose it will be for many years. As for White, he cannot be much above sixty. He will fill the place very well.

"I am sure the vicar will agree, for he has been speaking to me, about Peters being past his work, for the last five years. What do you say, my dear?"

"I think that will do very well, William," Mrs. Ellison replied, "and will get over the difficulty altogether."

"So you see, wife, for once that boy of Widow Whitney's was not to blame. I told you you took those stories on trust against him too readily. The boy's a bit of a pickle, no doubt; and I very near gave him a thrashing, myself, a fortnight since, for on going up to the seven-acre field, I found him riding bare backed on that young pony I intended for Kate."

"You don't say so, William!" Mrs. Ellison exclaimed, greatly shocked. "I never heard of such an impudent thing. I really wonder you didn't thrash him."

"Well, perhaps I should have done so, my dear; but the fact is, I caught sight of him some time before he saw me, and he was really sitting her so well that I could not find it in my heart to call out. He was really doing me a service. The pony had never been ridden, and was as wild as a wild goat. Thomas is too old, in fact, to break it in, and I should have had to get someone to do it, and pay him two or three pounds for the job.

"It was not the first time the boy had been on her back, I could see. The pony was not quite broken and, just as I came on the scene, was trying its best to get rid of him; but it couldn't do it, and I could see, by the way he rode her about afterwards, that he had got her completely in hand; and a very pretty-going little thing she will turn out."

"But what did you say to him, William? I am sure I should never stop to think whether he was breaking in the pony, or not, if I saw him riding it about."

"I daresay not, my dear," the squire said, laughing; "but then you see, you have never been a boy; and I have, and can make allowances. Many a pony and horse have I broken in, in my time; and have got on the back of more than one, without my father knowing anything about it."

"Yes, but they were your father's horses, William," Mrs. Ellison persisted. "That makes all the difference."

"I don't suppose it would have made much difference to me," the squire laughed, "at that time. I was too fond of horse flesh, even from a boy, to be particular whose horse it was I got across. However, of course, after waiting till he had done, I gave the young scamp a blowing up."

"Not much of a blowing up, I am sure," Mrs. Ellison said; "and as likely as not, a shilling at the end of it."

"Well, Mary, I must own," the squire said pleasantly, "that a shilling did find its way out of my pocket into his."

"It's too bad of you, William," Mrs. Ellison said indignantly. "Here is this boy, who is notoriously a scapegrace, has the impertinence to ride your horse, and you encourage him in his misdeeds by giving him a shilling."

"Well, my dear, don't you see, I saved two pounds nineteen by the transaction.

"Besides," he added more seriously, "I think the boy has been maligned. I don't fancy he's a bad lad at all. A little mischief and so on, but none the worse for that. Besides, you know, I knew his father; and have sat many a time on horseback chatting to him, at the door of his mill; and drank more than one glass of good ale, which his wife has brought out to me. I am not altogether easy in my conscience about them. If there had been a subscription got up for the widow at his death, I should have put my name down for twenty pounds; and all that I have done for her is to take eighteen pence a week off that cottage of theirs.

"No, I called the boy to me when he got off, and pretty scared he looked when he saw me. When he came up, I asked him how he dared to ride my horses about, without my leave. Of course he said he was sorry, which meant nothing; and he added, as a sort of excuse, that he used from a child to ride the horses at the mill down to the ford for water; and that his father generally had a young one or two, in that paddock of his by the mill, and he used often to ride them; and seeing the pony one day, galloping about the field and kicking up its heels, he wondered whether he could sit a horse still, and especially whether he could keep on that pony's back. Then he set to, to try.

"The pony flung him several times, at first; and no wonder, as he had no saddle, and only a piece of old rope for a bridle; but he mastered him at last, and he assured me that he had never used the stick, and certainly he had not one when I saw him. I told him, of course, that he knew he ought not to have done it; but that, as he had taken it in hand, he might finish it. I said that I intended to have it broken in for Kate, and that he had best get a bit of sacking and put it on sideways, to accustom the pony to carry a lady. Then I gave him a shilling, and told him I would give him five more, when he could tell me the pony was sufficiently broken and gentle to carry Kate."

Mrs. Ellison shook her head in disapprobation.

"It is of no use, William, my talking to the villagers as to the ways of their boys, if that is the way you counteract my advice."

"But I don't always, my dear," the squire said blandly. "For instance, I shall go round tomorrow morning with my dog whip to Thorne's; and I shall offer him the choice of giving that boy of his the soundest thrashing he ever had, while I stand by to see it, or of going out of his house at the end of the quarter.

"I rather hope he will choose the latter alternative. That beer shop of his is the haunt of all the idle fellows in the village. I have a strong suspicion that he is in league with the poachers, if he doesn't poach himself; and the first opportunity I get of laying my finger upon him, out he goes."

A few days later when Kate Ellison issued from the gate of the house, which lay just at the end of the village, with the basket containing some jelly and medicine for a sick child, she found Reuben Whitney awaiting her. He touched his cap.

"Please, miss, I made bold to come here, to thank you for having cleared me."

"But I couldn't help clearing you, Reuben, for you see, I knew it wasn't you."

"Well, miss, it was very kind, all the same; and I am very much obliged to you."

"But why do you get into scrapes?" the girl said. "If you didn't, you wouldn't be suspected of other things. Mamma said, the other day, you got into more scrapes than any boy in the village; and you look nice, too. Why do you do it?"

"I don't know why I do it, miss," Reuben said shamefacedly. "I suppose it's because I don't go into the fields, like most of the other boys; and haven't got much to do. But there's no great harm in them, miss. They are just larks, nothing worse."

"You don't do really bad things?" the girl asked.

"No, miss, I hope not."

"And you don't tell stories, do you?"

"No, miss, never. If I do anything and I am asked, I always own it. I wouldn't tell a lie to save myself from a licking."

"That's right," the girl said graciously.

She caught somewhat of her mother's manner, from going about with her to the cottages; and it seemed quite natural, to her, to give her advice to this village scapegrace.

"Well, try not to do these sort of things again, Reuben; because I like you, and I don't like to hear people say you are the worst boy in the village, and I don't think you are. Good-bye," and Kate Ellison proceeded on her way.

Reuben smiled as he looked after her. Owing to his memory of his former position at the mill, and to his mother's talk and teaching, Reuben did not entertain the same feeling of respect, mingled with fear, for the squire's family which was felt by the village in general. Instead of being two years younger than himself, the girl had spoken as gravely as if she had been twenty years his senior, and Reuben could not help a smile of amusement.

"She is a dear little lady," he said, as he looked after her; "and it's only natural she should talk like her mother. But Mrs. Ellison means well, too, mother says; and as for the squire, he is a good fellow. I expected he would have given it to me the other day.

"Well, now I will go up to the pony. One more lesson, and I think a baby might ride it."

As he walked along, he met Tom Thorne. There had been war between them, since the affair of the broken window. Reuben had shown the other no animosity on the subject as, having been cleared, he had felt in no way aggrieved; but Tom Thorne was very sore over it. In the first place, he had been found out; and although Reuben himself had said nothing to him, respecting his conduct in allowing him to be flogged for the offence which he himself had committed, others had not been so reticent, and he had had a hard time of it in the village. Secondly, he had been severely thrashed by his father, in the presence of the squire; the former laying on the lash with a vigour which satisfied Mr. Ellison, the heartiness of the thrashing being due, not to any indignation at the fault, but because the boy's conduct had excited the squire's anger; which Thorne, for many reasons, was anxious to deprecate. He was his landlord, and had the power to turn him out at a quarter's notice; and as there was no possibility of obtaining any other house near, and he was doing by no means a bad trade, he was anxious to keep on good terms with him.

Tom Thorne was sitting on a gate, as Reuben passed.

"You think you be a fine fellow, Reuben, but I will be even with you, some day."

"You can be even with me now," Reuben said, "if you like to get off that gate."

"I bain't afeared of you, Reuben, don't you go to think it; only I ain't going to do any fighting now. Feyther says if I get into any more rows, he will pay me out; so I can't lick you now, but some day I will be even with you."

"That's a good excuse," Reuben said scornfully. "However, I don't want to fight if you don't, only you keep your tongue to yourself. I don't want to say nothing to you, if you don't say nothing to me. You played me a dirty trick the other day, and you got well larrupped for it, so I don't owe you any grudge; but mind you, I don't want any more talk about your getting even with me, for if you do give me any more of it I will fetch you one on the nose, and then you will have a chance of getting even, at once."

Tom Thorne held his tongue, only relieving his feelings by making a grimace after Reuben, as the latter passed on. In the various contests among the boys of the village, Reuben had proved himself so tough an adversary that, although Tom Thorne was heavier and bigger, he did not care about entering upon what would be, at best, a doubtful contest with him.

Contenting himself, therefore, with another muttered, "I will be even with you some day," he strolled home to his father's ale house.

The change at the school was very speedily made. The squire generally carried out his resolutions while they were hot and, on the very day after his conversation with his wife on the subject, he went first to the vicar and arranged for the retirement of the clerk, and the instalment of White in his place; and then went to the school house, and informed the master of his intention. The latter had been expecting his dismissal, since Mrs. Ellison had spoken to him on the previous day; and the news which the squire gave him was a relief to him. His emoluments, as clerk, would be smaller than those he received as schoolmaster; but while he would not be able to discharge the duties of the latter for very much longer, for he felt the boys were getting too much for him, he would be able to perform the very easy work entailed by the clerkship for many years to come. It was, too, a position not without dignity; and indeed, in the eyes of the village the clerk was a personage of far greater importance than the schoolmaster. He therefore thankfully accepted the offer, and agreed to give up the school as soon as a substitute could be found.

In those days anyone was considered good enough for a village schoolmaster, and the post was generally filled by men who had failed as tradesmen, and in everything else they put their hands to; and whose sole qualification for the office was that they were able to read and write. Instead of advertising, however, in the county paper, the squire wrote to an old college friend, who was now in charge of a London parish, and asked him to choose a man for the post.

"I don't want a chap who will cram all sorts of new notions into the heads of the children," the squire said. "I don't think it would do them any good, or fit them any better for their stations. The boys have got to be farm labourers, and the girls to be their wives; and if they can read really well, and write fairly, it's about as much as they want in the way of learning; but I think that a really earnest sort of man might do them good, otherwise. A schoolmaster, in my mind, should be the clergyman's best assistant. I don't know, my dear fellow, that I can explain in words more exactly what I mean; but I think you will understand me, and will send down the sort of man I want.

"The cottage is a comfortable one, there's a good bit of garden attached to it, and I don't mind paying a few shillings a week more than I do now, to get the sort of man I want. If he has a wife so much the better. She might teach the girls to sew, which would be, to nine out of ten, a deal more use than reading and writing; and if she could use her needle, and make up dresses and that sort of thing, she might add to their income. Not one woman in five in the village can make her own clothes, and they have to go to a place three miles away to get them done."

A week later the squire received an answer from his friend, saying that he had chosen a man, and his wife, whom he thought would suit.

"The poor fellow was rather a cripple," he said. "He is a wood engraver by trade, but he fell downstairs and hurt his back. The doctor who attended him at the hospital spoke to me about him. He said that he might, under favourable circumstances, get better in time; but that he was delicate, and absolutely needed change of air and a country life. I have seen him several times, and have been much struck with his intelligence. He has been much depressed at being forbidden to work, but has cheered up greatly since I told him of your offer. I have no doubt he will do well.

"I have selected him, not only for that reason, but because his wife is as suitable as he is. She is an admirable young woman, and was a dressmaker before he married her. She has supported them both ever since he was hurt, months ago. She is delighted at the idea of the change for, although the money will be very much less than he earned at his trade, she has always been afraid of his health giving way; and is convinced that fresh air, and the garden you speak of, will put new life into him."

The squire was not quite satisfied with the letter; but, as he told himself, he could not expect to get a man trained specially as a schoolmaster to accept the post; and at any rate, if the man was not satisfactory his wife was likely to be so. He accordingly ordered his groom to take the light cart and drive over to Lewes, the next day, to meet the coach when it came in; and to bring over the new schoolmaster, his wife, and their belongings.

Mrs. Ellison at once went down to the village, and got a woman to scrub the cottage from top to bottom, and put everything tidy. The furniture went with the house, and had been provided by the squire. Mrs. Ellison went over it, and ordered a few more things to be sent down from the house to make it more comfortable for a married couple and, driving over to Lewes, ordered a carpet, curtains, and a few other little comforts for it.

James Shrewsbury was, upon his arrival, much pleased with his cottage, which contrasted strongly with the room in a crowded street which he had occupied in London; and his wife was still more pleased.

"I am sure we shall be happy and comfortable here, James," she said, "and the air feels so fresh and pure that I am convinced you will soon get strong and well again. What is money to health? I am sure I shall be ten times as happy, here, as I was when you were earning three or four times as much, in London."

The squire and Mrs. Ellison came down the next morning, at the opening of the school; and after a chat with the new schoolmaster and his wife, the squire accompanied the former into the school room.

"Look here, boys and girls," he said, "Mr. Shrewsbury has come down from London to teach you. He has been ill, and is not very strong. I hope you will give him no trouble, and I can tell you it will be the worse for you, if you do. I am going to look into matters myself; and I shall have a report sent me in, regularly, as to how each of you is getting on, with a special remark as to conduct; and I can tell you, if any of you are troublesome you will find me down at your father's, in no time."

The squire's words had considerable effect, and an unusual quiet reigned in the school, after he had left and the new schoolmaster opened a book.

They soon found that his method of teaching was very different to that which they were accustomed to. There was no shouting or thumping on the desk with the cane, no pulling of ears or cuffing of heads. Everything was explained quietly and clearly; and when they went out of the school, all agreed that the new master was a great improvement on Master White, while the master himself reported to his wife that he had got on better than he had expected.

Chapter 2: The Poisoned Dog.

The boys soon felt that Mr. Shrewsbury really wished to teach them, and that he was ready to assist those who wanted to get on. In the afternoon the schoolmaster's wife started a sewing class for the girls and, a week or two after he came, the master announced that such of the elder class of boys and girls who chose to come, in the evening, to his cottage could do so for an hour; and that he and the boys would read, by turns, some amusing book while the girls worked. Only Reuben Whitney and two or three others at first availed themselves of the invitation, but these spoke so highly of their evening that the number soon increased. Three quarters of an hour were spent in reading some interesting work of travel or adventure, and then the time was occupied in talking over what they had read, and in explaining anything which they did not understand; and as the evenings were now long and dark, the visits to the schoolmaster soon came to be regarded as a privilege, and proved an incentive to work to those in the lower classes, only those in the first place being admitted to them.

Reuben worked hard all through the winter, and made very rapid progress; the schoolmaster, seeing how eager he was to get on, doing everything in his power to help him forward, and lending him books to study at home. One morning in the spring, the squire looked in at Mrs. Whitney's shop.

"Mrs. Whitney," he said, "I don't know what you are thinking of doing with that boy of yours. Mr. Shrewsbury gives me an excellent account of him, and says that he is far and away the cleverest and most studious of the boys. I like the lad, and owe him a good turn for having broken in that pony for my daughter; besides, for his father's sake I should like to help him on. Now, in the first place, what are you thinking of doing with him?"

"I am sure I am very much obliged to you," Mrs. Whitney said. "I was thinking, when he gets a little older, of apprenticing him to some trade, but he is not fourteen yet."

"The best thing you can do, Mrs. Whitney. Let it be some good trade, where he can use his wits—not a butcher, a baker, or a tailor, or anything of that sort. I should say an upholsterer, or a mill wright, or some trade where his intelligence can help him on. When the time comes I shall be glad to pay his apprentice fees for him, and perhaps, when you tell me what line he has chosen, a word from me to one of the tradesmen in Lewes may be a help. In the meantime, that is not what I have specially come about. Young Finch, who looks to my garden, is going to leave; and if you like, your boy can have the place. My gardener knows his business thoroughly, and the boy can learn under him. I will pay him five shillings a week. It will break him into work a little, and he is getting rather old for the school now. I have spoken to Shrewsbury, and he says that, if the boy is disposed to go on studying in the evening, he will direct his work and help him on."

"Thank you kindly, sir," Mrs. Whitney said. "I think it will just be the thing, for a year or so, before he is apprenticed. He was saying only last night that he was the biggest boy in the school; and though I know he likes learning, he would like to be helping me, and feels somehow that it isn't right that he should be going on schooling, while all the other boys at his age are doing something. Not that I want him to earn money, for the shop keeps us both; but it's what he thinks about it."

"That's natural enough, Mrs. Whitney, and anything the boy earns with me, you see, you can put by, and it will come in useful to him some day."

Reuben was glad when he heard of the arrangement; for although, as his mother had said, he was fond of school, he yet felt it as a sort of reproach that, while others of his age were earning money, he should be doing nothing. He accepted the offer of the schoolmaster to continue to work at his studies in the evening, and in a week he was installed in Tom Finch's place.

The arrangement was not the squire's original idea, but that of his younger daughter, who felt a sort of proprietary interest in Reuben; partly because her evidence had cleared him of the accusation of breaking the windows, partly because he had broken in the pony for her; so when she heard that the boy was leaving, she had at once asked her father that Reuben should take his place.

"I think he is a good boy, papa," she said; "and if he was clever enough to break in my pony, I am sure he will be clever enough to wheel the wheelbarrow and pull weeds."

"I should think he would, lassie," her father said, laughing, "although it does not exactly follow. Still, if you guarantee that he is a good boy, I will see about it."

"Mamma doesn't think he is a very good boy," Kate said; "but you see, papa, mamma is a woman, and perhaps she doesn't understand boys and girls as well as I do. I think he's good, and he told me he never told stories."

The squire laughed.

"I don't know what your mamma would say to that, puss; nor whether she would agree that you understand boys and girls better than she does. However, I will take your opinion this time, and give Reuben a chance."

The subject was not mentioned again in Kate's hearing, but she was greatly pleased, one morning, at seeing Reuben at work in the gardens.

"Good morning, Reuben," she said.

"Good morning, miss," he replied, touching his hat.

"I am glad you have come in Tom's place, and I hope you will be good, and not get into scrapes, for I told papa I thought you would not; and you see, if you do, he will turn round and blame me."

"I will try not to get into scrapes, Miss Kate," Reuben said. "I don't do it often, you know, and I don't think there will be much chance of it, here."

Kate nodded and walked on, and Reuben went about his work.

There was, however, much more opportunity for getting into scrapes than Reuben imagined, although the scrapes were not of the kind he had pictured. Being naturally careless, he had not been there a week before, in his eagerness to get home to a particularly interesting book, he forgot to carry out his orders to shut the cucumber frames and, a sharp frost coming on in the night, the plants were all killed; to the immense indignation of the gardener, who reported the fact, with a very serious face, to the squire.

"I am afraid that boy will never do, squire. Such carelessness I never did see, and them plants was going on beautifully."

"Confound the young rascal!" the squire said wrathfully, for he was fond of cucumbers. "I will speak to him myself. This sort of thing will never do."

And accordingly, the squire spoke somewhat sharply to Reuben, who was really sorry for the damage his carelessness had caused; and he not only promised the squire that it should not occur again, but mentally resolved very firmly that it should not. He felt very shamefaced when Kate passed him in the garden, with a serious shake of her head, signifying that she was shocked that he had thus early got into a scrape, and discredited her recommendation.

The lesson was a useful one. Henceforth Reuben paid closer attention to his work, and even the gardener, who regarded boys as his great trial in life, expressed himself satisfied with him.

"Since that affair of the cucumbers I must own, squire," he said a month later, "that he is the best boy I have come across. He attends to what I say and remembers it, and I find I can trust him to do jobs that I have never been able to trust boys with, before. He seems to take an interest in it, and as he is well spoken and civil, he ought to get on and make a good gardener, in time."

"I am glad to hear a good account of him," the squire replied. "He is sharp and intelligent, and will make his way in life, or I am mistaken. His father was an uncommonly clever fellow, though he made a mess of it, just at the end; and I think the boy takes after him."

Among Reuben's other duties was that of feeding and attending to the dogs. These consisted of two setters, a pointer, and a large house dog, who was chained up at the entrance to the stables. Reuben was soon excellent friends with the sporting dogs, but the watchdog, who had probably been teased by Reuben's predecessor, always growled and showed his teeth when he went near him; and Reuben never dared venture within the length of his chain, but pushed the bowl containing his food just within his reach.

One day, he had been sent on an errand to the stables. He forgot the dog and ran close to the kennel. The animal at once sprang out. Reuben made a rush, but he was not quick enough, and the dog caught him by the leg. Reuben shouted, and the coachman ran out and, seizing a fork, struck the dog and compelled him to loose his hold.

"Has he bit you badly, Reuben?"

"Well, he has bit precious hard," Reuben replied. "I think he has nearly taken a piece out of my calf," as, on pulling up his trousers, he showed his leg streaming with blood.

"Put it under the pump, lad. I will pump on it," the coachman said. "He's a bad-tempered brute, and I wonder the squire keeps it."

"The brute ought to be killed," Reuben grumbled angrily. "I have never teased it or worried it, in any way. I wish you had stuck that fork into him, instead of hitting him with it. If you hadn't been within reach, he would have taken the bit out of me. He will kill somebody some day, and it were best to kill him, first."

The gardener pumped for some time on Reuben's leg; and then, going into the kitchen, he got some strips of rag from the cook and bound it up.

"You had best go home now," he said. "I will tell the gardener, when he comes round, what has happened to you. I doubt you will have to lay up, for a day or two."

As Reuben limped home, he met Tom Thorne walking with another boy.

"Hello, Reuben!" the latter exclaimed. "What's come to you? Yer trousers bee all tore."

"That brute of a house dog at the squire's has had hold of me," Reuben answered. "The savage beast has had a try, a good many times; but this time he got hold, and he has bit me pretty sharp."

Reuben had to keep his leg quiet for three days but, the third evening, he was well enough to go down the village to the schoolhouse. After the lesson was over he walked for some distance up the road, for his leg was very stiff; and he thought it would be a good thing to try and walk it off, as he intended to go to work next morning. On getting up early in the morning, however, he found it was still stiff and sore; but he thought he had better go and try to work for a bit.

"I am glad you are back again," the gardener said, when he saw him, "for there's a lot of work on hand; but I see you are still lame. The coachman tells me it were a nasty bite."

"It's pretty sore still," Reuben replied, "and I don't think I can walk about much; but I thought I might help in some other way."

"Very well," the gardener said. "There are a lot of plants which want shifting into larger pots. You do them, and I will take up the fork and dig up that piece of ground I want to put the young lettuces into."

Reuben worked hard till half-past eight, and then went off to his breakfast. On his return, he was told the squire wished to speak to him.

"It's about that dog, I expect," the gardener remarked. "I suppose you know he were poisoned last night."

"No, I didn't know," Reuben replied; "but it's a precious good job. I wish he had been poisoned before he got his teeth into me."

Reuben, on going round to the back door, was shown into the library, where the squire was sitting. The coachman was with him.

"Now then, Reuben," the squire said, "I want you to tell me the truth about this matter. The coachman told me, three days ago, that you had been bitten by the yard dog, and I made up my mind to get rid of him, on the first opportunity; but I find he was poisoned, yesterday evening."

He stopped as if expecting Reuben to say something; but the boy, having nothing to say, merely replied:

"Yes, sir, so the gardener has told me."

"What do you know about it, Reuben?"

"I don't know anything about it, sir," Reuben replied, opening his eyes.

"Now, look here, lad," the squire said gravely, "I am disposed to think well of you; and although I consider it a serious offence your poisoning the dog, I shall consider it very much worse if you deny it."

"But I didn't poison it, sir," Reuben affirmed. "I never dreamt of such a thing."

The squire set his lips hard together.

"Just tell me your story over again," he said to the coachman.

"Well, yesterday evening, squire, I went down into the village to buy some 'bacca. Just as I got back to the gate, out runs a boy. It was too dark for me to see his face, but I naturally supposed it were Reuben, so I said, 'Hello, Reuben, how's the leg?' But the moment I spoke, he turned off from the path and ran away.

"Well, I thought it was queer, but I went on to the stable. About a quarter of an hour afterwards, and as I was a-cleaning up the bits, I heard Wolf howl. He kept on at it, so I took a lantern and went out to see what was the matter. He was rolling about, and seemed very bad. I stood a-looking at him, wondering what were best to do, when sudden he gave a sort of yell, and rolled over, and he was dead. I thought it was no good telling you about it till this morning; and thinking it over, and seeing how sudden like it was, I come to the 'pinion as how he had been poisoned; and naturally thinking that, as he had bit Reuben, and as how Reuben said he ought to be killed, and seeing as I had met the boy a quarter an hour afore the dog was took bad, it came to me as how he had done it.

"This morning I knew for certain as the dog had been poisoned, for just outside of the reach of his chain there was that piece of paper a-lying, as you have got before you."

It was a piece of blue paper, about four inches square, on which was printed: "Rat poison."

"You hear that, Reuben? What have you to say?" the squire asked.

"I have got nothing to say, sir," Reuben answered, "except that whoever the boy was, it wasn't me, and that I know nothing about it."

"Well, Reuben, it will be easy for you to clear yourself, by saying where you were at the time.

"What o'clock was it, Robert, that you saw the boy?"

"It was just a quarter past eight, squire. The quarter struck just as I opened the gate."

"Were you out or at home at that hour, Reuben?"

"I was out, sir. I went to the schoolmaster's."

"What time did you leave there?"

"I left at eight, sir."

"Then if you got in just after eight, it is clear that you were not the boy," the squire said. "If your mother tells me that you were in at five minutes past eight, that settles the question, as far as you are concerned."

"I didn't get in till half-past eight, sir," Reuben said. "I walked about for a bit, after I came out from school, to try and get the stiffness out of my leg, so as to be able to come to work this morning."

"Was anyone with you, Reuben? Is there anyone to say what you did with yourself, between eight and half-past eight?"

"No, sir," Reuben said quietly. "I didn't speak to a soul; and didn't see a soul, so far as I know, from the time I came out of the gate of the schoolhouse till I got home."

"Does your mother sell packets of this poison?" the squire said, pointing to the paper.

Reuben looked at the paper.

"Yes, sir; I believe she does."

"Well, my lad," the squire said, "you must acknowledge that the case looks very ugly against you. You are known to have borne bad feelings against the dog; naturally enough, I admit. A boy about your size was seen by Robert in the dark, coming out of the gate; and that he was there for no good purpose is proved by the fact that he ran away when spoken to. A quarter of an hour later, the dog dies of poison. That poison you certainly could get at home and, by your own admission, you were out and about at the time the dog was poisoned. The case looks very bad against you."

"I don't care how bad it looks," Reuben said, passionately. "It wasn't me, squire, if that were the last word I ever had to speak."

"Very well," the squire said coldly. "In my mind, the evidence is overwhelming against you. I have no intention of pursuing the matter further; nor will I, for your father's and mother's sake, bring public disgrace upon you; but of course I shall not retain you here further, nor have anything to do with you, in the future."

Without a word, Reuben turned and left the room. Had he spoken, he would have burst into a passion of tears. With a white face, he walked through the village and entered his mother's shop.

"What? Back again, Reuben?" she said. "I thought your leg was too bad to work."

"It isn't my leg, mother," he said, in a choking voice. "The squire has dismissed me. He says I have poisoned his dog."

"Says you poisoned his dog, Reuben! Whatever put such an idea into his head?"

"The coachman saw a boy coming out of the yard, at a quarter past eight last night. It was too dark for him to say for certain, but he thought it was me. A quarter of an hour later the dog died of poison, and this morning they picked up a cover of one of those rat powders you sell. I couldn't say where I was at a quarter past eight, when the coachman saw the boy; for as you know, mother, I told you I had walked out a bit, after I came out from the school, to get the stiffness out of my leg. So, altogether, the squire has made up his mind 'tis me, and so he has sent me away."

Reuben had summed up the points against himself in a broken voice, and now broke into a passion of tears. His mother tried in vain to pacify him; but indeed her own indignation, at her boy being charged with such a thing, was so great that she could do little to console him.

"It's shameful!" she exclaimed, over and over again. "I call it downright wicked of the squire to suspect you of such a thing."

"Well, mother, it does look very bad against me," Reuben said, wiping his eyes at last, "and I don't know as the squire is so much to be blamed for suspecting me. I know and you know that it wasn't me; but there's no reason why the squire should know it. Somebody has poisoned his dog, and that somebody is a boy. He knows that I was unfriendly with the dog so, putting things together, I don't see as he could help suspecting me, and only my word the other way. It seems to me as if somebody must have done it to get me in a row, for I don't know that the dog had bit anyone else. If it is anyone, I expect it's Tom Thorne. He has never been friends with me, since that affair of the school window."

"I will go at once and speak to his father," Mrs. Whitney said, taking down her bonnet from the wall.

"No, mother, you can't do that," Reuben exclaimed. "We have got nothing against him. The squire has ten times as good reason to suspect me, as I have to suspect Tom Thorne; so as we know the squire's wrong, it's ten times as likely we shall be wrong. Besides, if he did it, of course he would deny it, he is the worst liar in the village; and then folks would say I wasn't satisfied with doing it myself, but I wanted to throw the blame on to him, just as he did on me before. No, it won't do, mother."

Mrs. Whitney saw that it wouldn't do, and sat down again. Reuben sat thinking, for some time.

"I must go away, mother," he said at last. "I can't stop here. Every one in the village will get to know of it, and they will point at me as the boy as poisoned the squire's dog, and then lied about it. I couldn't stand that, mother."

"And you sha'n't stand it, my boy," Mrs. Whitney said, "not a day. I will give up the cottage and move into Lewes, at once. I didn't go there before, for I am known there, and don't like folk to see how much I have come down in the world."

"No, mother, you stop here, and I will go up to London. They say there is lots of work there, and I suppose I can get on as well as another."

"I will not hear of your doing such a thing. I should never expect to hear of you again. I should always be thinking that you had got run over, or were starving in the streets, or dying in a workhouse. No, Reuben, my plan's best. It's just silliness my not liking to settle in Lewes; for of course it's better going where one is known, and I should be lost in a strange place. No; I daresay I shall find a cottage there, and I shall manage to get a living somehow—perhaps open a little shop like this, and then you can be apprenticed, and live at home."

An hour later, Mrs. Ellison called. Reuben had gone upstairs to lie down, for his leg was very painful. Mrs. Whitney did not give her visitor time to begin.

"I know what you have called about, Mrs. Ellison, and I don't want to talk about it with you. The squire has grievously wronged my boy. I wouldn't have believed it of him, but he's done it; so now, ma'm, I give a week's notice of this house, and here's my rent up to that time, and I will send you the key when I go. And now, ma'm, as I don't want any words about it, I think it will be better if you go, at once."

Mrs. Ellison hesitated a moment. Never, from the time she entered the village as the squire's wife, had she been thus spoken to; but she saw at once, in Mrs. Whitney's face, that it were better not to reply to her; and that her authority as the squire's wife had, for once, altogether vanished. She therefore took up the money which Mrs. Whitney had laid on the counter and, without a word, left the shop.

"I do believe, William," she said as, greatly ruffled and indignant, she gave an account of the interview to the squire, "that the woman would have slapped my face, if I had said anything. She is the most insolent creature I ever met."

"Well, my dear," the squire said seriously, "I can hardly wonder at the poor woman's indignation. She has had a hard time of it, and this must be a sad blow. Naturally she believes in her son's innocence, and we must not altogether blame her, if she resents his dismissal. It's a sad business altogether, and I know it will be a worry and trouble to me for months. Mind, I don't doubt that the boy did it; it does not seem possible that it should be otherwise. Still, it is not absolutely proved; and upon my word, I wish now I had said nothing at all about it. I like the boy, and I liked his father before him; and as this story must get about, it cannot but do him serious damage. Altogether it is a most tiresome business, and I would give a hundred pounds if it hadn't taken place."

"I really do not see why you should worry about it, William. The boy has always been a troublesome boy, and perhaps this lesson may do him good."

The squire did not attempt to argue the question. He felt really annoyed and put out and, after wandering over the ground and stables, he went down to the schoolhouse after the children had been dismissed.

"Have you heard, Shrewsbury, about that boy Whitney?"

"No, sir, I have heard nothing about him," the schoolmaster said. "He was here yesterday evening, as usual. His leg is no worse, I hope. Those dog bites are always nasty things."

"I wish it had been worse," the squire said testily; "then he would have been laid up quietly at home, instead of being about mischief."

"Why, what has he done, sir?" the schoolmaster asked, in surprise.

The squire related the history of the dog's death, and of his interview with Reuben. The schoolmaster looked serious, and grieved.

"What do you think of the matter, Shrewsbury?" the squire asked, when he had finished.

"I would rather not give any opinion," the schoolmaster replied quietly.

"That means you think I am wrong," the squire said quickly. "Well, say it out, man; you won't offend me. I am half inclined to think I was wrong, myself; and I would as lief be told so, as not."

"I don't say you are wrong, sir," the schoolmaster said, "except that I think you assumed the boy's guilt too much as a matter of course. Now, I have seen a great deal of him. I have a great liking for him, and believe him to be not only a singularly intelligent and hard-working lad, but a perfectly truthful and open one. I allow that the circumstances are much against him; but the evidence is, to my mind, completely overbalanced by his absolute denial. You must remember that he saw that you were quite convinced of his guilt; and that, in your eyes, his denial would be an aggravation of the offence. Therefore you see he had no strong motive for telling a lie.

"Who killed your dog I do not know but, from my knowledge of his character and assurance of his truthfulness, I am perfectly convinced that Reuben Whitney did not do it. The boy is, in some ways, very superior to the other lads I teach. I hear that his father was in a good position, as a miller; and his mother is of a different class, altogether, to the other women of the village. The boy has a certain refinement about him, a thoughtfulness and consideration which set him apart from the others. Mischievous and somewhat inclined to be noisy as he generally is, on days when I have not felt quite equal to my work he would notice it at once and, without saying a word, would, by his quietness and attention to his work, try to save me trouble; and I have heard him try to quiet the others, as they trooped out. The boy has a good heart as well as a good intellect, and nothing save his own confession would make me believe that he poisoned your dog."

"But he said he wished it was killed," the squire urged, as in defence of his own opinion.

"He said so, squire, at the time he was smarting with the pain of a severe bite; and I think probably he meant no more than a man who, under the same circumstances, would say, 'Confound the dog!' or even a stronger oath."

Mr. Ellison was silenced, for when in wrath he was, himself, given to use strong expressions.

"I don't know what to say, Shrewsbury," he said at last. "I am afraid I have made a mess of it; but certainly, as I first heard it, the case seemed to admit of no doubt. 'Pon my word, I don't know what to do. My wife has just been up to see Mrs. Whitney, and the woman blazed out at her, and wouldn't let her say a word, but gave notice that she should give up the house at the end of the week. If it hadn't been for that, I might have done something; but Mrs. Ellison was very much aggrieved at her manner. Altogether, it's one of the most annoying things I ever had to do with."

In the evening the schoolmaster put on his hat and went up, with his wife, to Mrs. Whitney. The women had seen a good deal of each other, as they both stood somewhat apart from the rest of the village and, in thought and speech, differed widely from the labourers' wives; and on evenings when the sewing class did not meet, the schoolmaster's wife often went up for an hour or two to Mrs. Whitney's, or the latter came down to the Shrewsburys' cottage.

"We have come up, Mrs. Whitney," the schoolmaster said as they entered, "to tell you how sorry we are to hear that you are going to leave, and that we are still more sorry for the cause. Of course, neither my wife nor myself believe for a moment that Reuben poisoned the squire's dog. The idea is preposterous. I told the squire as much, today."

Mrs. Whitney burst into tears. She had kept up all day, sustained partly by indignation, and partly by the desire that Reuben should not see that she felt it; but the thought that all the village would believe Reuben guilty had cut her to the heart, and she had felt so unwilling to face anyone that, as soon as Mrs. Ellison had left, she had closed the shutters of her little shop; but she broke down, now, from her relief at hearing that someone besides herself believed the boy to be innocent.

"I don't know what I shall do without you, Mrs. Whitney," Mrs. Shrewsbury said, when the widow recovered her composure. "I shall miss you dreadfully. Is it quite settled that you will go?"

"Quite settled, Mrs. Shrewsbury. I wouldn't stop in the squire's house for an hour longer than I could help, after his believing Reuben to be guilty of poisoning his dog, and not believing the boy when he said he had nothing to do with it. He ought to have known my boy better than that. And he coming up only the other day, and pretending he felt a kindness for my dead husband."

"I think the squire was too hasty, Mrs. Whitney," the schoolmaster said. "But you see, he did not know Reuben as we do; and I think, if you will excuse my saying so, you have been a little hasty, too. The squire came in to me to tell me about it, and I could see he was not satisfied in his mind, even before I gave him my positive opinion that Reuben was innocent; and I do think that, if you had not given Mrs. Ellison notice so sharply, the squire would have taken back his words; and said that at any rate, as there was nothing absolutely proved, he would hold his judgment in suspense until the matter was cleared up."

"And having everyone pointing the finger at my boy in the meantime! No, thank you, Mr. Shrewsbury, that would not do for me. I was not a bit hasty. Mrs. Ellison came in here prepared to talk to me about Reuben's wickedness; I saw it in her face, so I wouldn't let her open her lips. If she had, I should have given her a piece of my mind that she wouldn't have forgot, in a hurry."

"I can quite understand your feelings, Mrs. Whitney," the schoolmaster said, "and I have no doubt I should have acted as you did, if a son of mine had been suspected in the same way. Still, I think it's a pity; for if Reuben had stayed here, there would have been more chance of the matter being cleared up. However, we won't talk about that now. Now tell me, what are your plans?"

Mrs. Whitney told her visitors what she had determined upon. As Lewes was only four miles off, the schoolmaster said that he and his wife would sometimes come over to see her; and that he hoped that Reuben, whatever trade he was apprenticed to, would still go on with his studies. He would give him any advice or assistance in his power.

The next day Mrs. Whitney and Reuben moved, with all their belongings, to Lewes.

Chapter 3: The Burglary At The Squire's.

"What is that woman Whitney going to do with her boy?" the squire asked the schoolmaster, when he happened to meet him in the village about a month after she had left. "Have you heard?"

"Nothing is settled yet, sir. My wife had a letter from her, two or three days ago, saying that she had been disappointed in getting Penfold the mill wright to take him. He wanted fifty pounds premium, and she could only afford to pay twenty, so she is looking out for something else. You have heard nothing more that would throw any light on that affair, squire?"

"No, and don't suppose I ever shall. Have you any opinion about it?"

"My opinion is that of Reuben, himself," the schoolmaster said. "He believes that someone did it who had a grudge against him, on purpose, to throw suspicion on him."

"Who should have a grudge against him?" the squire asked.

"Well, squire, there was one boy in the village who had, rightly or wrongly, a grudge against Reuben. That is Tom Thorne. Reuben has not a shadow of evidence that it was this boy, but the lad has certainly been his enemy ever since that affair of breaking the windows of the school, just before I came here. Thorne, you know, did it, but allowed Reuben to be punished for the offence; and the truth would never have been known had it not been, as I heard, that your daughter happened to see the stone thrown. Since that time there has been bad blood between the boys. I do not for a moment say that Thorne poisoned your dog. Still, the boys are near enough of a size for one to be mistaken for the other in the dark; and Thorne knew that Reuben had been bitten by the dog, for Reuben spoke to another boy about it, that afternoon, while Thorne was standing by. Of course, this is but the vaguest suspicion. Still, if you ask my opinion, I should say that I consider, from what I have heard of the character of Tom Thorne, that he would be much more likely to poison the dog, in order to get Reuben into disgrace, than Reuben would be to do so out of revenge because the dog had bitten him."

The squire took off his hat, and passed his hands through his hair, in perplexity.

"I don't know what to think, Shrewsbury," he said. "It may be as you say. I look upon Thorne as the worst character in the village, and likely enough his son may take after him. That ale house of his is the resort of all the idle fellows about. I have strong reason to believe he is in alliance with the poachers. The first time I get a chance, out he goes. I have only been waiting, for some time, for an opportunity. I can't very well turn him out of his house without some excuse.

"What did you say was the name of the mill wright at Lewes Mrs. Whitney was wanting to get her son with?"

The schoolmaster repeated the name, which the squire jotted down in a notebook.

"Look here, Shrewsbury," he said, "don't you mention to Mrs. Whitney that you spoke to me about this matter. Do you understand?"

"I understand, sir," the schoolmaster said.

And he was not surprised when, a few days afterwards, his wife received a letter from Mrs. Whitney, saying that Mr. Penfold had come in to say that he had changed his mind, and that he would take Reuben as his apprentice for twenty pounds; adding, to her surprise, that he should give him half a crown a week for the first year, and gradually raise his pay, as he considered that boys ought to be able to earn a little money for themselves.

Reuben, therefore, was going to work on the following week. The half a crown a week which he was to earn was an important matter for his mother. For although she had found a cottage and opened a little shop, as before, her receipts were extremely small, and she had already begun to fear that she should be obliged to make another move, Lewes being too well supplied with shops for a small concern like hers to flourish. The half crown a week, however, would pay her rent; and she expected that she should make, at any rate, enough to provide food for herself and Reuben.

Mrs. Whitney had hoped that, although Lewes was but four miles from the village, the story about the dog would not travel so far; for it was not often that anyone from the village went over to the town. In this, however, she was mistaken for, a week after Reuben had gone to work, the foreman went to his master and said:

"I don't know whether you are aware, Mr. Penfold, about that new boy; but I hear that he had to leave Tipping, where he was employed by Squire Ellison, for poisoning the squire's dog."

"How did you hear it?" Mr. Penfold asked.

"William Jenkins heard it from a man named Thorne, who belongs to the village, and whom he met at a public house, yesterday."

"William Jenkins had best not spend so much time in public houses," Mr. Penfold said shortly. "I heard the story before I saw the boy and, from what I hear, I believe he was wrongfully accused. Just tell Jenkins that; and say that if I hear of him, or any of the hands, throwing the thing up in the boy's face, I will dismiss them instantly."

And so Reuben did not know, till long after, that the story of the killing of the dog was known to anyone at Lewes.

For three years he worked in Mr. Penfold's yard, giving much satisfaction to his employer by his steadiness and handiness. He continued his studies of an evening, under the advice of his former master; who came over with his wife, three or four times each year, to spend a day with Mrs. Whitney. Reuben was now receiving ten shillings a week and, although the receipts of the shop failed, he and his mother were able to live in considerable comfort.

One day, about three years after coming to Lewes, he was returning to work after dinner when, as he passed a carriage standing in front of one of the shops, he heard his name pronounced, and the colour flushed to his cheek as, looking up, he saw Kate Ellison. Timidly he touched his cap, and would have hurried on, but the girl called to him.

"Stop a minute, Reuben. I want to speak to you. I am glad I have met you. I have looked for you, every time I have come to Lewes. I wanted to tell you that I am sure you did not kill Wolf. I know you wouldn't have done it. Besides, you know, you told me that you never told stories; so when I heard that you said you didn't, I was quite sure about it."

"Thank you, miss," Reuben said gratefully. "I did not kill the dog. I should never have thought of such a thing, though every one seemed against me."

"Not every one, Reuben. I didn't think so; and papa has told me, since, that he did not think so, and that he was afraid that he had made a mistake."

"I am glad to hear that, miss," Reuben said. "The squire had been very kind to me, and it has always grieved me, very much, that he should think me capable of such a thing. I felt angry at the time, but I have not felt angry since I have thought it over quietly; for the case seems so strong against me that I don't see how the squire could have thought otherwise.

"Thank you, miss. I sha'n't forget your kindness," and Reuben went on with a light heart, just as Mrs. Ellison and her elder daughter came out from the shop.

"Who were you speaking to, Kate?" she asked, as she took her seat in the carriage.

"I was talking to Reuben Whitney, mamma. He was passing, so I called him to tell him that I did not believe he had killed Wolf."

"Then it was very improper behaviour on your part, Kate," her mother said angrily, for she had never quite recovered from the shock Mrs. Whitney had given to her dignity. "You know my opinion on the subject. I have told you before that it is one I do not care to have discussed, and that I consider it very improper for a girl, of your age, to hold opinions different to those of your elders. I have no doubt, whatever, that boy poisoned the dog. I must beg of you that you will never speak to him again."

Kate leaned back in the carriage with a little sigh. She could not understand why her mother, who was so kind to all the village people, should be so implacable on this subject. But Kate, who was now between fourteen and fifteen, knew that when her mother had taken up certain opinions they were not to be shaken; and that her father himself always avoided argument, on points on which he differed from her. Talking alone with his daughter the squire had, in answer to her sturdy assertion of Reuben's innocence, owned to her that he himself had his doubts on the subject, and that he was sorry he had dismissed the boy from his service; but she had never heard him do more than utter a protest, against Reuben's guilt being held as being absolutely proved, when her mother spoke of his delinquency.

But Kate was not one to desert a protege and, having been the means of Reuben's introduction to her father's, she had always regarded herself as his natural protector; and Mrs. Ellison would not have been pleased, had she known that her daughter had seldom met the schoolmaster without inquiring if he had heard how Reuben was getting on. She had even asked Mr. Shrewsbury to assure him of her belief in his innocence, which had been done; but she had resolved that, should she ever meet him, she would herself tell him so, even at the risk of her mother's displeasure.

Another year passed. Reuben was now seventeen, and was a tall, powerfully-built young fellow. During these four years he had never been over to Tipping, in the daytime; but had occasionally walked over, after dark, to visit the Shrewsburys, always going on special invitation, when he knew that no one else would be there. The Thornes no longer occupied the little public house. Tom Thorne had, a year before, been captured with two other poachers in the squire's woods, and had had six months' hard labour; and his father had at once been ejected from his house, and had disappeared from that part of the country. Reuben was glad that they had left; for he had long before heard that Thorne had spread the story, in Lewes, of the poisoning of the dog. He felt, however, with their departure all chance of his ever being righted in that matter was at an end.

One evening in winter, when Reuben had done his work, he said to his mother:

"I shall go over and see Mr. Shrewsbury tonight. I have not been over for some time and, as it is not his night for a class, I am pretty sure not to find anyone there. I told him, when I was there last, that I would take over a few tools and fix up those shelves for him.

"I don't suppose he will stay very much longer at Tipping. His health is completely restored now, and even his wife admits that he could work at his own business again. He has already been doing a little, for some of the houses he worked for in town, so as to get his connection back again. I expect, every time I see him, to hear that he has made up his mind to go. He would have done it, two years back; but his wife and the two little ones are so well that he did not like the thought of taking them up to London, till he was sure that his health was strong enough to stand steady work. I shall miss them very much. He has been a good friend, indeed, to me."

"He has indeed," Mrs. Whitney said. "I think anyhow, Reuben, you would have got on at your trade; but you would never have been what you are now, if it hadn't been for him. Your poor father would be proud of you, if he could see you; and I am sure that, when you take off that workman's suit and put on your Sunday clothes, you look as well as if the mill had never gone wrong, and you had been brought up as he intended you to be. Mrs. Tyler was saying only the other day that you looked quite the gentleman, and lots of people have said the same."

"Nonsense, mother," Reuben answered, "there is nothing of the gentleman about me. Of course, people say things that they think will please you, knowing that you regard me as a sort of wonder. I hope I shall make my way some day, and the fact that I have had a better education than most young fellows, in my position of life, of course may make some little difference; and will, I hope, help me to mount the ladder, when once I put my foot upon it."

But although, no doubt, Mrs. Whitney was a partial judge, her opinion as to her son was not an incorrect one; for with his intelligent face, and quiet self-assured bearing, he looked very much more like a gentleman than many young fellows in a far better position in life.

The stars were shining brightly when he started, at seven o'clock in the evening; and he walked with a brisk step, until he arrived within half a mile of the village. As he passed by the end of a lane which ran into the road, he heard a horse impatiently pawing the ground; the sound being followed by a savage oath, to the animal, to stand quiet. Reuben walked on a few steps, and then paused. The lane, as he knew, only led to some fields a short distance away. What could a horse be doing there? And who could be the man who spoke to it? There had, lately, been several burglaries on lonely houses, in that part of the country; and the general belief was that these had been perpetrated by men from London.

"I daresay it's nothing," Reuben said to himself. "Still, it is certainly curious and, at any rate, there can be no harm in having a look."

Walking upon the grass at the side of the road, he retraced his steps to the end of the lane, and then stood and listened. He heard a murmur of voices, and determined to follow the matter up. He walked quietly down the lane. After going about a hundred yards, he saw something dark in the road and, approaching it very cautiously, found that it was a horse harnessed to a gig. As he was standing wondering what to do next he started, for the silence was broken by some voices near him.

"It was a stupid thing to get here so early, and to have to wait about for four hours in this ditch."

"It was the best plan though," another voice replied. "The trap might have been noticed, if we had been driving about the roads after dark; while in the daylight no one would give it a second thought."

"That's right enough," the first speaker said, "but it's precious cold here. Hand me that flask again. I am blest if the wind does not come through the hedge like a knife."

The voices came from the other side of the hedge, on the opposite side of the lane. Reuben crossed noiselessly. There was a gate just where the cart had stopped, and the men had evidently got over it, to obtain the shelter of the hedge from the wind. Reuben felt the gate, which was old and rickety; then cautiously he placed his feet on the lower bar, and leaned forward so as to look round the hedge.

"What time are the others to be here, Tom?"

"They said they would be here at nine o'clock. We passed them about six miles on the road, so they ought to be here to time."

"I suppose there's no doubt about this here being a good business?"

"I will answer for that," the other said. "I don't suppose as there's much money in the house, but there's no end of silver plate, and their watches, and plenty of sparklers. I have heard say as there's no one in the county as has more jewels than the squire's wife."

"You know the house well, don't you?"

"I never was inside," the other said, "but I have heard enough, from them that has, to know where the rooms lie. The plate chest is in the butler's pantry and, as we are going to get in by the kitchen window, we are safe to be able to clear that out without being heard. I shall go on, directly the others come, and chuck this meat to the dogs—that will silence them. I know the way there, for I tried that on once before."

Reuben had thought that the voice was familiar to him, and the words gave him the clue—the speaker was Tom Thorne—and he, and those with him, were going to commit a burglary at the squire's. He was hesitating whether to make off at once, to warn the squire of what was intended; or to listen and learn a little more of their plan, when suddenly a light shone behind him, and a voice exclaimed with an oath:

"Who have we here?"

He leapt down, and was in the act of turning round to defend himself, when a heavy blow with a cudgel struck him on the head, and felled him insensible to the ground. While he had been listening to the conversation, two men had come quietly up the lane, walking on the grass as he had done; and their footsteps had been unheard by him, for the horse continued, at times, impatiently to paw the ground. The sound of their comrades' voices had told them where they were sitting and, turning on a bull's-eye lantern to show them the gate, they had seen Reuben leaning over it, in the act of listening.

When Reuben recovered consciousness, he found that he was lying in the ditch, his hands tightly bound to his sides, and a handkerchief stuffed into his mouth. The four men were gathered close by, talking in low tones.

"I ain't going to give up the job, now we come so far to do it," one said, with an oath. "Besides, it's not only the swag, but the grudge I owe the squire. If I am ready to go on, I suppose you needn't be afraid; besides, he don't know us."

"Best cut his throat and a done with it," a voice, which Reuben recognized as that of his old enemy, said. "I owe him one, and it will be safest to stop his mouth."

"No, no," a third voice protested; "I ain't going to have nothing to do with cutting throats. I don't mind running the risk of Botany Bay, but I ain't going to run the chance of being scragged. But let's move a bit away from here, while we settle it. You hit him pretty hard, but he will be coming round presently. I thought at first that you had killed him, but he's bleeding too free for that."

The men moved some little distance away, and for some time Reuben could hear a murmured talk, but could make out nothing of what had been said. It was, he judged, a quarter of an hour before the conversation ceased. They did not return to him but remained at some distance off, and Reuben thought that he heard the footsteps of one of them going down the lane. He could feel, by a warm sensation across his cheek, that the blood was flowing freely from the wound he had received on his temple. A dull torpid feeling came over him, and after a time he again lost consciousness.

How long he remained in this state he did not know, but he was at last aroused by being lifted and thrown into the bottom of the cart. Four men then climbed up into it and the horse was started. They drove at a quick pace, and Reuben wondered why they were taking him away with them. His head ached terribly, and he suffered much from the tightness of the cords which bound his arms. The men seemed in high good humour, and talked and laughed in low tones; but the noise of the vehicle prevented Reuben hearing what was said.

It was, as far as he could judge, full two hours before the vehicle stopped. He was roughly taken out of the cart, his arms were unbound; and the men, leaping up, drove away at full speed. The spot where he had been left was very dark, for trees overshadowed it on both sides. Where he was he had no idea, but he judged that he must be fully twenty miles from the village.

His first impulse was to take the handkerchief from his mouth, and he then walked slowly along the road, in the direction from which he had come. It was, he felt sure, no use shouting; for they would have been certain to have selected some lonely spot to set him down, and there would be no chance of awakening the inhabitants of any distant cottage. He walked slowly, for he was faint with loss of blood.

After proceeding about a quarter of a mile, he emerged from the wood and came upon a spot where the road forked. Having no clue whatever as to the direction in which Lewes lay, he sat down upon a heap of stones and waited patiently for morning. He had no doubt that the burglary had been a successful one, and he bitterly regretted his neglect to keep a watch down the lane, to see that he was not surprised by the men he had heard were coming. At any rate, he hoped that he should be able to give such information as would set the constables upon the track.

It seemed to him that some three hours passed before a faint light began to dawn in the sky. By this he knew that it must be about half-past six, and calculated, therefore, he must have set out in the trap about half-past one. He now started to walk along the road, hoping that he should soon meet some labourer going to work. Stopping by a small stream which ran across the road, he washed his head and face; as he had lain on the ground after being struck, the blood had not flowed on to his clothes.

After the wash he proceeded with a brisker step. Half an hour later he met a ploughman, riding one of his team to the fields.

"Is this the road to Lewes?" Reuben asked.

"Lewes? Noa, this baint the road to Lewes. I don't know nothing about the road to Lewes. This bee the road to Hastings, if you goes further. So they tell me; I ain't never been there."

"Is there a village anywhere about here?" Reuben asked.

"Ay, half a mile or so on."

Reuben walked on till he got to the village; and then, going to a public house, obtained some refreshment and learned, from the landlord, the direction he should take to get to the main road leading to Lewes; which was, as he expected, some twenty miles away. He found that the cart had not followed the main road towards London, but had driven by crossroads for a considerable distance, before turning north.

It was late in the afternoon before Reuben arrived at Lewes, for he had been obliged to rest often by the way, and had made but slow progress. When within a few doors of his mother's house, one of the constables of the town came up to him and touched him on the shoulder.

"I arrest you in the king's name!"

"Arrest me! What for?" Reuben exclaimed.

"For breaking into the house of Squire Ellison, of Tipping, that's what it's for."

Reuben laughed.

"You have got the wrong man this time. I have no more to do with the burglary than a child."

"It's no laughing matter," the constable said. "If you are innocent you have got to prove it; that ain't no business of mine. All I have got to do is to arrest you."

So saying, and before Reuben knew what he was about, he slipped a pair of handcuffs over his wrists. Reuben flushed up. Hitherto he had scarcely taken the matter seriously, but to be marched handcuffed through the streets of Lewes was an indignity which enraged him.

"Take these off," he said angrily. "I will go quietly with you."

"You may or you may not," the man said doggedly. "You are younger than I am, and maybe can run faster. I ain't agoing to chance it."

Reuben saw that it was of no use to argue and, silent and pale, he walked along by the side of the constable, who retained a tight hold of his collar. A little crowd gathered speedily round, for such a sight was unusual in Lewes; and Reuben felt thankful when they reached the cells, and he was sheltered from the gaze of the public. A minute later the head constable came in.

"Now, my lad, don't say anything to criminate yourself," he began; "the less you talk, the better for you. I am sorry to see you here, for I knew your father, and I have a good character of you from your employer; so I give you my advice—keep your mouth shut."

"But I am not going to keep my mouth shut," Reuben said indignantly. "Here am I, arrested in the public streets, marched handcuffed through the town upon a most monstrous charge, which has been brought against me without a shadow of evidence."

"Don't be talking, don't be talking," the constable said testily; "you will hear the evidence in time enough."

"But I will talk. I want to tell you what's happened, and you will see that I am innocent, at once."

"Very well, if you will you will; but mind, don't blame me afterwards."

Reuben told the story of his adventures from the time of leaving.

"There," he said when he finished, "isn't that enough to show that I am innocent?"

"No," the chief constable said gravely, "it's not enough to prove anything, one way or the other. I am bound to say the story looks a likely one; and if it weren't for two or three matters which I heard of, from the constable who came over from Tipping, I should have no doubt about it. However, all that is for the magistrate to decide. There will be a meeting tomorrow."

"But can't I be taken before a magistrate at once? There's Captain Fidler, within a mile."

"What would be the good?" the chief constable said. "You don't suppose anyone would let you out, only on the strength of the story you have told me. He could only remand you, and you could gain nothing by it."

"Can I see my mother?" Reuben asked next.

"Yes," the constable said, "I will send her down a message, at once."

Mrs. Whitney soon came up. A neighbour had brought her in the news when Reuben had been arrested, and she was on the point of starting to inquire about it when the message arrived. She was more indignant than grieved, when she heard the charge which had been brought against Reuben.

"The idea of such a thing!" she exclaimed. "These constables don't seem to have natural sense. The idea of charging anyone who is known as a respectable young man with such a thing as that, and shutting him up without a question. Why, there can't be any evidence against you."

"There's no saying, mother," Reuben replied. "You mustn't be too sure of that. Don't you remember that affair of the dog? Well, the same hand is at work now. Before, I only suspected who had done it; but I am sure now. However, whatever evidence they may have got, we know it isn't true. I have four years' good character here to speak for me. Still, it is hard that I should get into positions of this sort, without any fault of mine."

"It's better that it is without any fault of yours, Reuben."

"That is right enough, mother, so we will both keep up our spirits."

Chapter 4: The Trial.

There were three magistrates on the bench on the following morning, when Reuben was brought up. The justice room was crowded, for the series of burglaries had caused some excitement; and the news that the house of Mr. Ellison had been broken into, and that one of the men who had been taken turned out to belong to Lewes, had created quite a sensation.

Mr. Ellison was the first to give his evidence. He testified that, on waking on the previous morning, he found that someone had been in his room during the night. He was not in the habit of locking his door, and had not been awakened. He found that a box which stood on the dressing table, containing some valuable jewelry, was gone; that his watch and that of Mrs. Ellison had been taken; that the drawers had been opened, and a case containing the more valuable jewels of his wife had also been abstracted. This was not discovered till afterwards. He first missed his watch.

He rang the servants up, for it was still early; and it was then discovered that the lower premises had been broken into, the plate chest in the butler's pantry broken open, and a large quantity of plate stolen.

"What do you estimate the value of the articles stolen, Mr. Ellison?"

"The value of my wife's jewels I should put down, roughly, at two thousand pounds; the silver plate might have been worth three hundred more; the watches and other articles, so far as I yet miss them, say another hundred."

The servants proved that they found the kitchen window open, on going downstairs. It had been opened by the catch being forced back. It was not the custom to put up shutters. The pantry door, which was a strong one, had been cut with a saw round the lock. The butler testified to the plate having been safe, the night before, and the strong chest in which it was kept having been forced open.

Directly it was discovered, the constable of the village was placed in charge of the room, with orders to admit no one; and a man on horseback was sent off to Lewes, to the chief constable. The village constable gave evidence as to the state of the place, when he was put in charge.

The constable who had been sent over from Lewes then stepped into the witness box. He testified to the marks of entry of the thieves, and said that the manner in which they had gone to work, and in which the door had been sawn through, and the chest forced open, seemed to show that it was the work of practised hands. On examining closely the butler's pantry, he found a powerful screwdriver and a heavy chisel. These corresponded to marks in the lid, and had evidently been used for the purpose of forcing it open. They had the initials "R W." burnt in the handles. The inmates of the house all denied any knowledge of these tools.

Mr. Ellison had been present when he showed them to Mrs. Ellison. On looking at them she said at once:

"R. W. Why, that must be Reuben Whitney, that wicked boy, again."

Upon making inquiries, he found that the man named worked at Mr. Penfold's, the mill wright at Lewes. He returned there at once and, going to Mr. Penfold, found the prisoner was absent from work. The men identified the brand on the tools as that of the prisoner. Another constable proved the arrest.

The chief constable then read the statement that the prisoner had made to him. The magistrates conferred together for a few minutes, in an undertone.

"Mrs. Ellison," the senior of them said, addressing that lady, who was sitting on a chair placed at the upper end of the court, "we are sorry to trouble you, but we must ask you to go into the witness box.

"I wish to ask you," he went on, when she had taken her stand in the box, "how it was you at once connected the initials with the prisoner?"

"Because he had at one time lived in the village, and was employed assisting our gardener. He was discharged on suspicion of having poisoned a watchdog which had bit him; and as the three dogs about the place had all been poisoned, on the night when the house was broken into, his name had been in my mind and, on seeing the initials, I naturally recognized them at once."

There was a deep silence in the court, when Mrs. Ellison gave her evidence. Hitherto the impression had been rather favourable to the prisoner. His story, though strange, had been by no means impossible and, if true, would have completely accounted for the finding of the tools, which were the only evidence against him. The evidence of Mrs. Ellison, however, entirely altered the complexion of the case.

Reuben had stood, quiet and composed, during the hearing. His countenance had evinced no surprise or emotion, when the tools were produced. He had, indeed, upon thinking the matter over before coming into court, come to the conclusion that the tools, which he had in a small basket at the time he was attacked, had been found in or near the house; having been left there purposely, by Tom Thorne, in order to throw suspicion upon him. Their production, therefore, was no surprise to him.

A slight shade had passed over his face when Mrs. Ellison entered the witness box. Glancing at the squire as she gave her evidence, Reuben saw that Mr. Ellison looked greatly vexed and annoyed. As before, at the conclusion of the evidence of each witness, Reuben was asked if he had any question to put. He hesitated for a moment and then, as before, replied in the negative.

Again the magistrates consulted together.

"Mr. Ellison, we shall be obliged if you will enter the witness box again. In your former evidence, Mr. Ellison, you said nothing in any way relating to the prisoner; but it now seems you had a previous acquaintance with him. Will you tell the court what it is?"

"I have not much to say," the squire said. "As a boy he lived in the village with his mother, a most respectable person; and widow of Jacob Whitney, a miller in a good way of business, who, as it may be in your memory, was found drowned in his mill pond some seven or eight years ago. The widow, being in reduced circumstances, settled in Tipping. The boy was an intelligent lad and, when the boy employed in my garden left, I gave him the place. He gave every satisfaction. One day he was severely bitten by the watchdog and, three days later, the dog was found poisoned. My gardener saw a boy running away from the spot, a quarter of an hour before the dog died. He believed it to be the prisoner, but it was too dark for him to distinguish the features.

"At the time, I certainly suspected that he had been guilty of poisoning the dog and, in spite of his denying that he had anything to do with it, as he was unable to account for where he was at the time the boy was seen, I discharged him. I wish to say publicly that I have deeply regretted having done so, ever since, and that I consider I acted hastily and wrongly in so doing. Considering his previous good character, I ought not to have assumed his guilt without more positive evidence than I had before me. I may also say that the schoolmaster of our village will give the prisoner the highest character for truthfulness, and he has known him ever since. His present employer, Mr. Penfold, is also, I believe, ready to testify to his excellent conduct during his four years of apprenticeship."

"I suppose, Mr. Ellison," the senior magistrate said, "you have not, at any time since the poisoning of the dog, obtained any actual evidence which would show that you were mistaken in your first view, and that your subsequent change of opinion was due solely to your general view of the boy's character, so far as you knew it."

"That is so," the squire assented and, no further question being asked, he resumed his seat. His evidence had caused surprise and some little amusement in court. It was clear that there was a strong difference of opinion between him and his wife on the subject; and that, while the lady had something like an animus against the prisoner, the squire was strongly impressed in his favour. After some consultation, the magistrate said:

"The case will be remanded until this day week, to see if further evidence is forthcoming; but I may say that, under the present circumstances of the case, we shall feel ourselves obliged to send it for trial. The prisoner's account of his proceedings, from the time he left Lewes on the previous evening up to that of his return and arrest here, may be true; but so far it is entirely unsupported. On the other hand, we have the evidence of the tools, admitted to belong to him, being found on the scene of the burglary. We have the further important fact that he had been formerly employed upon the place; and had, it may be supposed, some knowledge of the premises. He had been discharged upon a suspicion, rightfully or wrongly entertained, of his having poisoned a dog belonging to Mr. Ellison, and there is reason for the belief that the dogs poisoned before the burglary were got at by some one acquainted with the place."

"Will it be any use my calling evidence as to character, at the next meeting?" Reuben asked.

"No," the magistrate said. "Evidence of that kind will be useful at the trial, when the matter will be thoroughly sifted. We only have to decide that there is prima facie evidence connecting you with the offence, and of that there can be no doubt."

At the sitting a week later, no fresh evidence was produced; and Reuben was committed for trial at the next assizes. Public opinion in Lewes ran high on the subject of Reuben's guilt or innocence. The other workmen at the mill wright's were strongly in his favour—he was very popular among his fellows—and they pointed out that several hands must have been concerned in the business, that he was never seen about in public houses of an evening, or was likely to have any connection with bad characters. Was it probable, if he had gone about such a job as that, he would have taken tools marked with his own initials; or if he had, that he would have been fool enough to leave them behind?

Upon the other hand, opinion in general ran strongly against him. His story was declared to be utterly improbable, and a fellow who had once been dismissed for poisoning a dog would be likely, at any future time, to revenge himself upon the employer who turned him off. As to Mr. Ellison's declaration of his subsequent opinion that he acted hastily, little weight was attached to it. Everyone knew Squire Ellison was a kind-hearted man, and as he acknowledged himself that he had obtained no evidence which would satisfy him that he had acted wrongly in the first case, it was clear that it was from mere kindness of heart that he had changed his mind on the subject.

At Tipping the subject was never mentioned. The squire and Mrs. Ellison had, on the drive home, had the most serious quarrel which had ever taken place during their wedded life; which had ended by the former saying:

"If anyone had ever told me before, Mary, that you were a vindictive woman, I should have knocked him down. I might do so now, but I should know in my heart that he had spoken truly. For some reason or other you took a prejudice against that boy, and you never forgave his mother for standing up in his defence. I was shocked, downright shocked, when you gave your evidence in court."

Mrs. Ellison had been too much offended to reply, and the rest of the drive had been passed in silence. Upon their return home the girls were full of eager questions, but the squire said shortly:

"My dears, the less we talk about it, the better. Your mother and I differ entirely on the subject. She believes that Reuben Whitney is guilty. I am absolutely convinced he is innocent. Therefore, if you please, we will not discuss it."

The following morning Kate Ellison went down to the school house.

"Mr. Shrewsbury," she said, putting her head in at the door, "could you come out for two or three minutes? I want particularly to speak to you.

"Have you heard what took place yesterday, at Lewes?" she asked when he came out.

"Yes, Miss Ellison. I saw Jones the constable last night, and he told me all that had been said in court."

"And you think Reuben Whitney is innocent?" she asked eagerly.

"I am quite sure of it, Miss Ellison—as sure as I am of my own existence. For anyone who knows him to have a doubt is absolutely absurd. A finer young fellow than Reuben it would be hard to find."

"But what did he say? How did he account for his tools being found there?"

The schoolmaster repeated the account Reuben had given, and said:

"When the trial comes off I shall, of course, go over; and testify both as to his general conduct and to the fact that he had, as he said, promised to bring over his tools to put up some shelves in my cupboards."

"Do you think he will get off, Mr. Shrewsbury?" she asked anxiously.

"I should hope so, Miss Ellison, but I can't disguise from myself that it is by no means certain. That unfortunate old business about the dog will tell terribly against him; and though I am perfectly sure that his account of what took place is correct, there is nothing to confirm it. It is just the sort of story, they will say, that he would naturally get up to account for his absence, and for the tools being found. Of course, if the jury knew him as well as I do the result would be certain; but I have been trying to look at the facts as if he were a stranger, and I can't say what decision I should come to, in such a case. Still, of course, the high character that will be given him, and the fact that there is no evidence whatever connecting him, in any way, with bad characters, must count immensely in his favour."

The assizes were to take place only a fortnight after the date of Reuben's committal. Mrs. Whitney had engaged a lawyer in the town to defend her son and, to the surprise of this gentleman, Mr. Ellison called upon him two or three days later, and said:

"Mr. Brogden, I hear that you have been engaged by Mrs. Whitney to defend her son. I don't believe the young fellow is guilty, and therefore I authorize you to spend any sum that may be necessary in getting up his defence; and I wish you to instruct a counsel to appear for him. Of course I cannot appear openly in the matter, and my name must not be mentioned, but I will guarantee all expenses.

"It seems to me that it would be desirable to find out, if possible, the village where he says he breakfasted, and asked the way to Lewes. In his story he says he didn't know the name of the village but, as he was told it was about twenty miles from Lewes, and he can describe the road he followed, there ought to be no difficulty in finding it.

"I should advise you to have a chat with Shrewsbury, the schoolmaster at Tipping. He is a great friend of the lad's, and a very intelligent fellow. He may be able to suggest some points to be followed up. At any rate, do all you can."

Reuben had another adherent who was also acting on his behalf. The afternoon before the trial, Kate Ellison stopped before the blacksmith shop in the village and, seeing that Jacob Priestley the smith was at work, alone, she entered.

"Is it true, Jacob, that you have been summoned on the jury at Lewes tomorrow?"

"Yes, miss, it bee true, sureley. It be four years since anyone in the village was summoned, and it be mighty hard that they should have picked upon me. Still, I have never been called before, so I suppose I mustn't grumble; but it be hard to be taken away from work, to waste one's time in a court, and they say the 'sizes ull last for three days."

"Well, Jacob, you know that Reuben Whitney is going to be tried for robbery at our house."

"Yes, miss; so they says."

"Well, what do you think about it, Jacob?"

"I don't think nothing one way or the other, miss. Most folks says as how he must have done it, 'cause as how he poisoned squire's dog afore."

"He didn't do anything of the sort, Jacob; and it's very wicked of people to say so. He is innocent, quite innocent. I am sure he is, and papa is quite sure, too; and he will be terribly put out if he is found guilty. So I want you to promise me that, whatever the others think, you will hold out that he is innocent."

"Well, miss," the smith said, scratching his head, "if you be sure of it, and squire be sure, I suppose there can't be no doubt about it, for who should know better than squire; and I am sure I wouldn't go to put him about, for a better landlord than squire ain't to be found in the county. So you tell him, miss, as I will hold out."

"But papa doesn't know that I have come down here, Jacob. It wouldn't do for him to interfere, you know; especially as he is a magistrate himself. You mustn't mention to anyone that I have spoken to you about it—not to anyone, Jacob, not even to your wife—but I can tell you the squire will be heartily pleased if he is found innocent, and he will be terribly put out if he is found guilty."

"All right, miss," the smith replied. "I understand, and no one sha'n't know as you have spoken to me aboot it. It be quite enough for I to know as the squire knows as he's innocent. It ain't likely as I should stick my opinion up against his."

The day after he heard of Reuben's arrest, the schoolmaster went over to see him; and as he was the bearer of a letter from Mr. Ellison to the governor of the jail, he was able to obtain admittance.

"Was there ever such an unfortunate fellow as I am?" Reuben exclaimed, after the first hearty greeting. "Here am I for the second time accused of a crime of which I am innocent; and from which, indeed, in the present case I am a sufferer; and all this has come about, simply because I went out of my way to inquire into what seemed to me a suspicious business."

"Tell me all about it, Reuben. I have heard the statement you made to the chief constable; but tell it me again, with every detail you can think of. Some circumstance, which appears to you as trifling, may furnish a clue."

"I have seen Mr. Brogden, the lawyer. I have told him all that happened," Reuben said; "but of course, I will gladly tell you again."

And Reuben repeated the story of the adventure, with every detail that he could think of; speaking slowly, as the schoolmaster wrote it down at length.

"I will see what I can make of it, when I think it over," Mr. Shrewsbury said. "Of course, as it stands, it is so natural and probable that it would clear you at once; had it not been for that unfortunate dog business before, and the supposition, excited by it, that you had a feeling of hostility to the squire. I shall be able partly to dispose of that, for I can swear that you have frequently spoken to me of the squire in tones of respect and liking; and that, although you regretted the manner in which you left his service, you felt no ill will against him on account of it. Moreover, I shall be able to prove that the reasons you gave for having your tools with you was a true one; and although I cannot swear that I expected you specially on that evening, the fact that you were in the habit of coming over, at times, to see me, cannot but corroborate your story.

"I shall get leave for two or three days, and will hunt up the village where you breakfasted."

"Thank you very much," Reuben said, "though I have been thinking it over, and do not see that the evidence of the people at the public house would help me much. It will simply prove that I passed through there in the morning; but will not show, in any way, whether I went willingly as far as that, as one of the party who broke into the house, or whether I was taken there."

"They can probably prove that you looked pale and exhausted," the schoolmaster said.

"I fancy I should look pale, in any case," Reuben said, "if I had gone through such a night's work as that of breaking into the squire's."

"Well, keep up your courage, Reuben. You may be quite sure that your friends will do all in their power for you. I shall go now and have a chat with your mother. I am afraid that she will want comforting more than you do."

"Yes," Reuben agreed, "I am afraid so. Somehow I don't seem to take it to heart much. I shall feel it more afterwards, perhaps; but at present, the whole thing seems so extraordinary that I can't quite realize that I am in danger of being sent to Botany Bay. The worst of it is that, even if I am acquitted, lots of people will still think I am guilty. There is only one thing that can really prove my innocence, and that is the arrest of Tom Thorne, and his father."

"I hear," the schoolmaster said, "that the chief constable has written up to Bow Street, for them to put the runners on the traces of those two scoundrels. Whether they believe your story or not, it is quite evident that more than one person was concerned in the affair. Their theory, of course, is that you quarrelled with the others over the division of the spoil; and got that knock on the head, which is a very severe one. I went down yesterday with Jones, to see the spot where you said you were assaulted. There were marks where the horse stopped, and marks of feet in the field, and a patch of blood; all of which goes to prove that your story may be true, but unfortunately it doesn't prove that it was because, according to the theory against you, you might have been assaulted after the robbery, as well as before it."

"But in that case," Reuben said, "why should they have taken the trouble to carry me twenty miles away?"

"Yes, there is of course that question," the schoolmaster said thoughtfully; "but then, on the other hand, why did they take the trouble in case you were not an accomplice? In both cases the answer is the same—they did it to prevent your giving the alarm, until they had got far away from the scene. They didn't like to murder you, because of the consequences to themselves; but they would not risk your recovering consciousness and getting up an early pursuit. It cuts both ways, you see."

"So it does," Reuben assented. "It's just a question of belief; and I own, myself, that that old dog business is very much against me; and that I can't blame anyone who considers me guilty."

Reuben's was the last case taken at the assizes, and occasioned a good deal of interest in that part of Sussex, partly owing to the position of Squire Ellison, partly to the nature of the defence set up, as to which opinion was a good deal divided. The evidence for the prosecution was, to a great extent, similar to that given at the inquiry before the magistrates. Unfortunately for Reuben, the judge was notoriously a severe one; and his bias, from the first, appeared to be against the prisoner. Mr. Ellison was closely questioned by the prosecutor as to the poisoning of his dog, as this was considered to show a particular animus on the part of Reuben. He again repeated his conviction of Reuben's innocence in that affair.

"But what reason have you, Mr. Ellison," the counsel for the prosecution asked blandly, "for changing your opinion on the subject?"

This was just the question which the squire could not answer satisfactorily; and was a particularly irritating one, because it had often been triumphantly asked by his wife.

"I can really give no particular reason," he said, "except that, on reflection, the boy's previous character and antecedents convinced me that he could not have done such an act."

"In fact," the counsel said suavely, "you were influenced by your own goodness of heart, Mr. Ellison, in thus laying aside a conviction which the facts had, at the time, forced upon you."

"I don't look upon it in that light," the squire replied shortly. "I consider that in the first instance I acted hastily and unadvisedly, and on consideration I saw that I had done so."

"I am afraid, Mr. Ellison," the counsel said, "that you will not persuade the jury to agree with you."

"I have only one or two questions to ask you," the counsel for the defence said, when he rose to cross-examine, "for indeed your evidence is, as I think the jury will agree, altogether in favour of the prisoner. In the first place, was the lad, when in your employment, ever upstairs in your house?"

"Not that I know of," the squire replied. "Certainly in the course of his duties he would never be there. Indeed, it would be very seldom that he would even enter the kitchen, except to bring in vegetables. Certainly he would never pass through to go upstairs. He could not possibly have done so without exciting attention and remarks."

"He would therefore, Mr. Ellison, have no means of possessing any knowledge as to the internal arrangements of your house, beyond that possessed by the other people in the village?"

"None whatever," Mr. Ellison replied.

"Now, as to that unfortunate affair of the poisoning of your dog. Your opinion, as to the innocence of the prisoner in that matter, is not a recent one—not the outcome of his after good conduct and character?"

"Not at all," Mr. Ellison said. "I changed my opinion on the matter very shortly, indeed, after the affair."

"Within a few days, I think I may say?" the counsel asked.

"Within a very few days; I may almost say within a few hours," the squire replied. "The boy's story, told not to me but to another, that he believed the dog was poisoned by another lad in the village who owed him a grudge, and who has since turned out an exceedingly bad character, struck me as being very much more probable than that he should do it, himself."

Mrs. Ellison was next called. Her evidence as to the robbery was a mere repetition of that given by the squire. The counsel then turned to the question of the poisoning.

"I would rather say nothing about it," Mrs. Ellison said. "It is a matter which has been productive of much pain to me, and I would rather say nothing about it."

"But you must, madam," the judge said sharply. "You are here to answer any question which may enable the jury to form an opinion on this case."

"I am sorry to press you, Mrs. Ellison," the counsel continued, "but I really must do so. You took a different opinion to that held by your husband?"

"I regret to say that I did. Mr. Ellison told me the reasons he had for suspecting the boy. I thought those reasons sufficient, and have seen no cause for changing my opinion."

After the evidence for the prosecution had been given, the counsel for the defence pointed out that there was, in fact, no evidence whatever connecting Reuben with the robbery, beyond the discovery of his tools on the premises; and that, as to this trumpery story of the poisoning a dog, four years before, apparently only for the purpose of showing some sort of animus, he regarded it as altogether contemptible. When a man meant to commit a burglary in a house, he did so in order to obtain possession of the goods, and not from any spite against the owner. Had this young fellow felt any malice, for this ridiculous charge on which he had been dismissed, he would not have allied himself with burglars to rob the house; but would probably have vented his spite in the usual fashion, by setting fire to a stack or outhouse; but so far as he could see, there was no foundation for the charge brought against him, and they had already heard Mr. Ellison declare that he regretted he had suspected him, and that he believed him to be innocent.

But even had it been proved, up to the hilt, that the prisoner had poisoned the dog, he should still hold it as wholly unconnected with the present matter. If he had poisoned the dog, what then? It was not a heinous sin, nor would it affect his moral character. No boy likes having a piece taken out of his calf by a savage dog, and there would have been nothing so very dreadful had he revenged himself. It was probable that, even among the jury, there was one or more who, if he had not absolutely set poison for his neighbour's cats, for destroying his young chickens or scratching up his flower beds, had threatened to do so, and would not have regarded it as a very serious crime had he done so.

Therefore he contended that the jury should put this trumpery affair altogether out of their minds; on the double ground that, in the first place, the prisoner at the bar did not poison the dog; and that, had he done so, it would have had nothing whatever to do with the present affair.

"Why, gentlemen," he said, "it is an insult to your understanding to ask you to credit that this young fellow—whose character, which I shall presently prove to you, by unimpeachable evidence, is of the highest kind—has, for four years, cherished such malice against his employer, for dismissing him mistakenly, that he has become the consort of thieves and burglars, has stained his hands in crime, and rendered himself liable to transportation, for the purpose merely of spiting that gentleman. Such a contention would be absolutely absurd. I must beg you to dismiss it altogether from your mind, and approach it from a different standpoint, altogether. Divested of this extraneous business, the matter is a most simple one.

"The prisoner left his mother's cottage, at seven o'clock in the evening, to go over for an hour or two to his friend Mr. Shrewsbury, the schoolmaster of Tipping. He took with him a few tools, as he had promised to put some shelves in his friend's house. On the way he heard some talking down a lane, which he knew led to only a field. Thinking it strange, he went to see who it was and, some distance down, he found a horse and cart standing and, listening to the conversation of two men who were sitting under the hedge, he heard enough to inform him that a burglary was intended upon the house of Mr. Ellison. He was about to make off to give the alarm, when he was suddenly attacked by some men who had come up behind, and was felled to the ground. While lying insensible, he was bound hand and foot and left in a ditch; where he remained till the burglars returned from completing the work on hand. They then threw him into the cart, and put him down some twenty miles away. Being greatly exhausted by loss of blood, it was late in the afternoon before he arrived at Lewes, when he was at once arrested.

"This, gentlemen, is the prisoner's story, as related to the chief constable when he was taken to the lockup. Nothing can be simpler or more probable; and in some points, at least, I shall be able to confirm it by independent testimony. Mr. Shrewsbury will tell you that the prisoner had arranged to come over to see him, and bring his tools. He will also tell you that, two days after the prisoner's arrest, he went with Jones, the village constable, and found the marks where the horse and trap had stood; while, just inside the field, the grass was trampled with feet; and in the bottom of the dry ditch was a great dark patch, which he was able to ascertain to be blood. Doctor Hewitt will tell you that he was called in to strap up the prisoner's head, after his arrest; and that the cut was a very severe one, and must have been inflicted by a heavy weapon, with great force.

"I am convinced, gentlemen, that after hearing this evidence you will agree with me, not only that the prisoner is perfectly innocent of the charge, but that he is a most ill-used person; and that it is a matter of surprise and regret that the magistrates should have committed him for trial, when the only shadow of evidence against him was the discovery of these tools, a discovery which he at once explained. Of other evidence, there is not one jot or tittle. No attempt has been made to prove that the prisoner was in the habit of consorting with bad characters; no attempt has been made to show any connection, whatever, between him and the men who came in a horse and trap across the hills, for the purpose of effecting a burglary at Mr. Ellison's; and who, as we know, did effect it. No scrap of the property stolen from the house has been found upon him and, in order to account for the severe wound on his head, the counsel for the prosecution has started the hypothesis that it was given in the course of a quarrel, during the division of the plunder.

"But had that been the case, gentlemen, the prisoner would not have been standing here alone. Robbed and ill-treated by these companions of his, he would naturally have put the officers of justice on their track and, as he must have been in communication with them, and well acquainted with their ways and haunts, he could have given information which would have led to their early arrest. He could well have done this, for the crown would have made no difficulty, whatever, in promising a lad like this a free pardon, on condition of his turning evidence against these burglars; whose mode of procedure shows them to have been old hands, and who are, no doubt, the same who have committed the various robberies which have lately taken place in this part of the country.

"The prisoner is the son of highly respectable parents. His employer will come before you, and give you evidence of the extremely high character he bears. Mr. Shrewsbury will tell you that he has, for the last four years, devoted no inconsiderable portion of his leisure time to improve his education, and enable him to recover the position occupied by his father, who was a much-respected miller in this neighbourhood. I shall leave the case in your hands, gentlemen, with an absolute confidence that you will, without a moment's hesitation, find a verdict proclaiming the innocence of my client; and enable him to leave the dock, without a stain upon his character."

Chapter 5: Not Guilty!

The schoolmaster was the first witness called for the defence. After stating that, although no evening was actually settled for his coming over, he expected the prisoner one evening that week; and that he had promised to bring his tools over, to do a little job of carpentering; he also detailed his visit to the lane, and the result of his observation there; and then gave Reuben the highest character, saying that he had known him for five years, and that he had an absolute confidence in his integrity and honesty.

"He has from the first," he said, "proved a most intelligent and hard-working boy, anxious to improve himself and to get on in the world. He has learnt all that I could teach him, and more. He is one of the last persons in the world whom I should consider capable of the crime with which he is charged. As to his having any animosity to Mr. Ellison, I can swear that, on many different occasions, he has expressed his high opinion of him; and has declared that it was quite natural that, with the evidence before him, he should have thought him guilty of poisoning the dog."

The keeper of the wayside public house, where he had breakfasted, proved that he was struck with the prisoner's appearance when he entered; that he was very pale, and seemed scarcely able to walk. He had asked him the nearest way to Lewes, and had inquired whether there was any chance of getting a lift; as he was anxious to get back, as soon as possible.

Mr. Penfold was the next witness. He said that the prisoner had been apprenticed to him, four years previously; that his general conduct had been most excellent, and that he was remarkably quick and intelligent, and was an excellent workman. During the time that he had been employed, he had never lost a day.

"At the time he was apprenticed to you, Mr. Penfold," Reuben's counsel asked, "were you aware that the lad had been summarily discharged by Mr. Ellison?"

"I was aware of that fact," Mr. Penfold answered; and Reuben, with surprise, looked at his employer.

"From whom did you hear of it?"

"I heard of it from Mr. Ellison himself, who called upon me about the matter."

"How was it he came to call upon you, Mr. Penfold?"

"The prisoner's mother had applied to me about apprenticing her son. I had asked 50 pounds premium, and said that it wasn't my custom to pay any wages for the first year. She said she could only afford pounds, and I thought that was an end of the matter until, a few days later, Mr. Ellison called upon me, and said that he had heard from the schoolmaster in his village, who was a friend of the boy's mother, how matters stood; and that her application had fallen through, owing to her being unable to find more than 20 pounds.

"I said that this was so. Mr. Ellison then said that he was prepared to make up the deficiency, that he had a regard for the boy's father; and that, moreover, he himself had, through a hasty misconception regarding the poisoning of the dog, discharged the lad from his service; and that he felt uneasy, in his mind, at having been guilty of a piece of injustice. Over and above the 30 pounds, he gave me six pound ten; in order that I might pay the boy half a crown a week, for the first year, which he said would be a matter of consequence to his mother. He requested me on no account to let Mrs. Whitney know that he had intervened in the matter, but to represent that I changed my mind, and was willing to take the 20 pounds she offered as a premium. He was particularly anxious on this point; because, he said, she would certainly refuse to accept assistance from him, owing to that unfortunate affair about the dog.

"I may say that, from that time to this, I have not mentioned the fact to anyone; and the sum of 20 pounds was inserted in the indenture of apprenticeship."

There was a little movement of applause in the court, as Mr. Penfold gave his evidence; and Reuben looked gratefully towards Mr. Ellison, and said heartily:

"I thank you, sir, with all my heart."

The foreman of the yard was next examined. He confirmed the high character Mr. Penfold had given Reuben, and adding that he knew the lad never entered a public house, but spent his evenings almost entirely at home studying; for that he himself had, many times, called in and had, upon every occasion, found him so employed.

The counsel for the prosecution then addressed the jury, and threw discredit upon Reuben's narrative; which, he said, was unsupported in any material particular. That he met the rest of the party in the lane was likely enough. He may have returned there with them after the burglary, and probably it was there that, in a quarrel over the spoil, he received the blow of which you have heard.

"My learned friend has told you to dismiss from your mind the question about that poisoning of the dog, four years ago; but it is impossible for you to do so. You have heard that the dog was poisoned, and that the evidence was so strong that his employer at once dismissed him. It is true that Mr. Ellison has told you that he afterwards changed his mind on the subject; but after the evidence which Mr. Penfold has given, of the kindness of that gentleman's heart, you will readily understand that no great stress can be laid upon this. The matter, so far from being trivial, as my friend represents it, is highly important; inasmuch as here we find that, again, the dogs have been poisoned just as on the first occasion. It is clear that burglars from London would be ignorant of the whereabouts of the kennels, and were not likely to have come down provided with a store of poisoned meat; had they not known, from persons well acquainted with the place, of the steps that would have to be taken before an entry could be effected into the house. You will therefore see the extreme importance of this point.

"I am perfectly ready to admit that the evidence is of a wholly circumstantial nature but, from the nature of the case, it is necessary that this should be so. Had Mrs. or Mr. Ellison awoke, when the thieves entered their room, it is probable that much more evidence would be forthcoming. It is, however, for you to weigh the probabilities of the case. You have to consider whether the theory which I have laid before you, as to the connection of the prisoner with this affair, or this wild story which he tells you, is the most probable."

The judge then summed up, with a strong bias against Reuben. He told them that evidence for character was, of course, of importance; but that it must not be relied upon too far. The prisoner appeared undoubtedly to be intelligent and well-conducted, but unfortunately his experience told him that many criminals were men of unusual intelligence. Stress had been laid, by the counsel for the defence, upon the fact that the prisoner was not known, at any time, to have consorted with suspicious characters; but this, after all, was only negative evidence. Affairs of this sort were always conducted with secrecy and, had one of these men come down from London, as was probable enough, to make inquiries as to houses which could be broken into with a prospect of good booty, he would naturally not make himself conspicuous.

They had heard the two stories, and must judge for themselves; but he agreed, with the counsel for the prosecution, that the fact that the prisoner had been discharged by Mr. Ellison for poisoning a dog, and that on the night of the robbery other dogs were found poisoned, and that probably by some one acquainted with the locality, could not but have an influence upon their minds. At the same time he would tell them that, if they had a doubt in their minds, it was their duty to give the prisoner the benefit of that doubt.

The jury consulted together for a minute or two in the jury box, and then expressed their desire to retire. A buzz of talk arose in the court, when they had left. Opinion was divided as to what the verdict would be. When the counsel for the defence sat down, the general opinion was that the prisoner would be certainly acquitted; but the speech of the counsel for the prosecution, and the summing up of the judge, had caused a reaction, and few doubted now that the verdict would be guilty.

So Reuben himself thought. It was he felt hard that, standing there to be tried for burglary, the decision should, in fact, depend upon that unjust charge which had, four years ago, been brought against him. Reuben was in the habit of what he called arguing things out by himself; and as he stood there, waiting for the verdict, he tried to put himself in the position of the jury; and he felt that, in that case, he should have difficulty in coming to a decision.

It was not until after the lamps had been lighted that the jury returned into the box. The crier shouted for order, and there was not a sound heard, as the foreman told the judge that they were not agreed upon their verdict.

"Then you must go back, gentlemen, until you are," the judge said.

"We are eleven one way, and one the other. Won't that do, my lord?"

"No, sir," the judge replied. "You must be unanimous."

The jury again retired, the judge and counsel went off to dine at the hotel, and almost all the public trooped out. Two hours later, as the jury did not return, Reuben Whitney was taken back to the jail, and the court closed. At nine o'clock in the morning, a warder entered.

"The jury have come back into the court," he said. "They are going to return a verdict."

Reuben was again placed in the dock. The seats open to the public quickly filled, as the news spread through the town. Several of the members of the bar dropped in, and then the judge came in and took his seat.

Reuben had occupied the time in trying to judge, from the faces of the jury, what their verdict was going to be. They looked sulky and tired. But as Reuben's eye rested on Jacob Priestley, whom he had at once recognized among the jury, the smith gave him an encouraging wink. At least, so Reuben thought; but as the next moment he was looking as surly as the rest, he thought that he must have been mistaken.

"Are you agreed, gentlemen, as to the verdict you find in this case?" the judge asked.

"We are, my lord," the foreman replied.

"Do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty?"

"Not guilty, my lord."

"Very well, gentlemen," the judge said tartly. "It is your verdict, not mine."

At the foreman's word a thrill had run through the court; for when it was known, the evening before, that eleven were one way and one the other, the belief had been general that the majority were for a conviction. Reuben himself had so understood it, and the verdict was a complete surprise to him.

The constable raised the bar for him to leave the dock, and as he moved out his friend the schoolmaster pushed forward, and shook him warmly by the hand.

"Thank God for that verdict, Reuben. I am indeed rejoiced, and I own I hardly expected it."

"I didn't expect it at all," Reuben said in a choked voice, for his sudden liberation had shaken him, more than his arrest or any of the subsequent proceedings had done.

"I congratulate you heartily, Reuben," Mr. Ellison said, putting his hand on his shoulder.

The squire had waited at Lewes until ten o'clock on the previous evening, and had driven over again the first thing in the morning, so anxious was he about the verdict.

"I didn't believe you guilty this time, my boy, from the first. I was glad indeed to hear the verdict; for after the judge's summing up, I was sorely uneasy.

"And now, Reuben, I hope," he said, as they entered the street, "that you have quite forgiven me for that old business. It has been the unfortunate cause of getting you into this affair. Had it not been for that no one would ever, for a moment, have doubted the truth of your story."

"There is nothing to forgive, squire," Reuben said. "I never blamed you for it, from the first; and even had I done so, your goodness, of which I only heard yesterday, would have made up, many times, for any mistake you may have made then."

"That is right, my lad," the squire said. "I am glad that matter is made up. And now I will not keep you, for I know you will want to be off home to your mother."

Reuben walked quietly home, so as to give the schoolmaster, who had hurried on ahead, time to break the news of his acquittal to his mother. Mrs. Whitney had remained in court during the trial, but had retired when the jury left to consider their verdict, being completely overcome with agitation and excitement. The schoolmaster had slept in the house, and had persuaded her not to go to the court in the morning; fearing as he did that the verdict would be a hostile one. She completely broke down when she was told the news, and was still sobbing when Reuben arrived.

The schoolmaster at once took his leave, leaving mother and son together; and promised them to return in a day or two. When he again came over, he saw at once that Mrs. Whitney was looking depressed and unhappy.

"What do you think, Mr. Shrewsbury? Reuben says that he shall go abroad, out to Australia. I have talked against it till I am hoarse, but it's no good. I hope you will persuade him to give up such a mad idea."

"I will hear what he has to say first, Mrs. Whitney. Reuben has generally a good deal to say for his side of a question, and I must hear his reasons before I can argue against them.

"Now, Reuben, what have you to say for yourself?"

"I made up my mind while I was in jail," Reuben replied, "that if I was acquitted, I would go right away. These things stick to a man all through his life. That first affair, four years ago, nearly got me transported now; and if a small matter like that did me such harm, what will this do? If I had been proved to be innocent, it would have been different; but as it is, I believe nine people out of ten in court thought I was guilty; and I am convinced that the jury were eleven to one against me, only the twelfth was more obstinate than they were, and so they gave in. I believe it was Jacob Priestley the blacksmith who held out, for the sake of old times.

"At any rate, a great many people will think me guilty, all their lives, unless something turns up to prove my innocence. Mother says we might settle somewhere else, where we ain't known; but I should never feel safe. Years on, someone from Lewes might see me and tell the story; or Tom Thorne might keep on my track. I won't risk it.

"I have been to Mr. Penfold, and he says if I am determined to go, he will cancel my indenture for me. I have no doubt I shall find work of some sort, out there. I am a pretty good workman now at my own craft and, if I can't get work at that, I can turn my hand to something else.

"My only trouble is about mother. I want her to go with me. I could make a living for her out there, but she won't have it. She says six months at sea will kill her, and then she has all sorts of ideas in her head about the natives. However I hope that, in two or three years' time, I shall be able to write and tell her that I have comfortably settled, and have a good home ready for her to come to; and that then she will join me."

"Never," Mrs. Whitney said, excitedly. "I was born at Lewes, and I have lived near it all my days, and I will die here. I am not going to tramp all over the world, and settle down among black people, in outlandish parts. I could not do it, Mr. Shrewsbury. It's cruel of him to ask me."

The schoolmaster was silent for a minute. He saw that Reuben's mind was firmly made up, and he could not deny the force of his reasoning. It was true that many people still considered him guilty. It was true that this story might crop up again, years on, and ruin his life. It did seem that the best thing he could do was to leave the country.

"Australia is not so bad a place as you fancy, Mrs. Whitney," he said at last. "They do have troubles with the natives, certainly, in the outlying settlements; but in the towns you have no more trouble than you have here. Besides, every year the white population is increasing, and the black diminishing. Six months' voyage is not so dreadful as it seems. And though I do think that, if Reuben goes out, it will be better for you to remain quietly here till he has a home prepared for you; I think that, when the time comes, you will change your mind about it.

"As to Reuben himself, I must own there's a good deal of force in what he says; and that until those Thornes have been sent out of the country, his story might follow him. And I have no doubt he would do well out there. He is a good workman for his age and, as he says, can turn his hand to almost anything. Labour is scarce out there and, as he has got his head screwed on the right way, I have no doubt that he will fall on his feet."

"I didn't expect this of you, Mr. Shrewsbury," Mrs. Whitney said, beginning to cry. "I thought you would have taken my part, and now you are going right against me."

"Not against you, Mrs. Whitney, for I think that Reuben's plan is best for you both. He cannot but suffer, if he remains here; and you will be unhappy in seeing him suffer. Great as the loss would be to you, I believe that you would be happier here, alone, than you would be were you to see him in constant trouble and worry. At any rate you would have the option, if you found life intolerably dull here, of joining him out there at any time.

"But how do you intend to get out, Reuben?" he asked, seeing that Mrs. Whitney made no answer, but again relapsed into tears.

"I shall work my way out," Reuben replied. "I can do any rough work as a smith or a carpenter, and I should think I ought to get my passage for my work. Anyhow, I have got twelve pounds saved up; and if I can't get out free, that and my work ought to take me."

In a short time Mrs. Whitney, finding that Reuben was not to be shaken in his determination, ceased to oppose it; and began to busy herself in preparations for his departure, which he had arranged to take place as soon as possible.

A day or two before starting, he walked over to say goodbye to Mrs. Shrewsbury. He stopped as he passed the smithy and, seeing Jacob Priestley at work alone, he went in.

"Ah, Reuben, is it you?" the smith said. "Better here than in the dock at Lewes, eh? I hears a talk of your going to foreign parts."

"Yes, I am off," Reuben said, "and I have just come over to say goodbye to Mrs. Shrewsbury; so I looked in as I passed, knowing as you were one of those who found me not guilty, and would perhaps give me a shake of the hand, before leaving."

"That will I, lad. Yes, I found you not guilty; and I jest tipped you a wink, from the box, to let you know as it were all right; but my eye! what a game we had had of it. Never had such a game, in all my born days."

And the blacksmith sat down on a stool, to indulge in a great fit of laughing.

"What was the game?" Reuben asked.

"Well, you know, Stokes he was the foreman, and a Cockney sort of chap he be. He turns round in the box and, says he:

"'In course you are all agreed.'

"'Agreed as how?' says I.

"'Why, agreed as he's guilty, in course,' says he.

"'Nothing of the sort,' says I. 'I believes he's as innocent as a child unborn.'

"Then they all comes round me and jaws; but seeing as I wasn't going to give in, Stokes he asked the judge for leave to retire.

"Well, when we retires they all pitches into me, and says as it's monstrous one man should hold out agin eleven; and that, even if I didn't feel sure myself, I ought to go as the others went. So I didn't say much, but I sits myself down and brings out a big chunk of bread and bacon, as my good woman had put into my pocket, and I begins to eat.

"'Look you here,' says I, 'I ha' got four parcels like this. Today be Friday, and I can hold on easy till Tuesday. That's how I looks at it. This young chap ain't had nothing to do with this 'ere robbery, and I ain't going to see he transported for what he never done.'

"Well, there we sits. Sometimes they would all talk at once, sometimes two or three of them would give it me. Ten o'clock comes and they got desperate like, for only one or two of them had put anything into their pockets, thinking that the matter was sure to be finished that night. When the messages were sent out again, as we couldn't agree, I sits down in a corner and, says I:

"'I ain't a selfish man, and any of you as changes your mind can have a share of what I have got.'

"I dozes off, but I hears them jawing away among themselves. It might have been two o'clock when one of them comes to me and gives me a shake and, says he:

"'Give us a cut of that bread and bacon. I am well-nigh starved. I have got a wife and children to think of, and it don't matter to me whether this chap goes to Botany Bay, or whether he don't. It didn't seem to me a certain case, all along, so I will go along with you.'

"Gradually two or three more comes, and when it got light I could see as some more was hesitating so, says I:

"'Lookee here, my friends. Those who has agreed to give this young chap another chance has lessened my stock of bread and bacon pretty considerable, and I ain't got more than enough for one more, so who's the next?'

"Four more spoke out at once. I divides the bread and bacon among them; then, as there was nine of us agin three, we goes at them and tells them how wrong it is as we was all to suffer from their obstinacy, and we works on their feelings about their wives and children; and then, says I:

"'I call it downright ridiculous, when there's a hot breakfast on twelve tables waiting for us, as three men should keep the rest from tucking in, just acause they won't give an innocent lad the benefit of the doubt.'

"Well, that finished them. The thought of the hot breakfast made the other chaps so ravenous as I believe they would have pitched into Stokes and the other two, if they hadn't have given in. So they comes round, and we sends out to say that we had agreed on the vardict. It were the best game I ever seed in my life."

"Well, Jacob, I am sure I am heartily grateful to you, and I shall not forget your kindness; though what made you so sure of my innocence, while all the others doubted it, I don't know."

"Lor', Reuben!" the smith said, "There ain't nothing to thank me about. I didn't know nowght as to whether you was innocent or guilty; and it was a good job for me as I had made up my mind about that there vardict, afore I went into court; for I should never have made head or tail of all that talk, and the fellows with white hair on the top of their heads as kept bobbing up and down, and asking all sorts of questions, was enough to turn an honest man's head. The question was settled when Miss Kate Ellison—that's the little un, you know—came in here. Says she:

"'Jacob, you are on this jury, I hear.'

"'Yes, miss,' says I.

"'Well, I hope you are going to find Reuben Whitney innocent,' says she.

"'I don't know nothing about it,' says I. 'Folks seem to think as he did it.'

"Then she went at me, and told me that she was sure you was innocent; and the squire he was sure, and he would be moighty put out if you was found guilty. So I told her natural that, the squire's being a good landlord, I wouldn't disoblige him on no account; and she might look upon it as good as settled that you should be found innocent. So she tells me not to say a word to anyone, and I ain't, not even to the ould woman; but in course, I don't consider as she meant you."

Reuben could not help laughing as he learned that he had been acquitted, not from any belief in his innocence on the part of the jury, but by the intervention on his behalf of the girl who had, before, fought his battles. Shaking hands with Jacob, he went on to the schoolmaster's.

As he was sitting there chatting with Mr. and Mrs. Shrewsbury, he saw Kate Ellison come out of her father's gate along the road with her basket, as usual. Catching up his hat, he ran out and stood bareheaded, awaiting her.

"Ah, Reuben!" she said, with a smile and a nod, "I am glad to see you before you go; for Mr. Shrewsbury told me, yesterday, you were going to leave Lewes and emigrate. I am glad,"—and she hesitated a little—"very glad that they found you innocent. I was quite sure you would not do such a thing."

"I am glad I came over today, Miss Ellison," Reuben said quietly. "Very glad that I have met you; for I have just learned, from Jacob Priestley, that it is to you I am indebted that I am not, in the present moment, a prisoner in jail, under sentence of transportation."

The girl flushed up hotly.

"Jacob Priestley is very wrong to have spoken about it. I told him he was never to mention it."

"I hope you will not blame him, Miss Ellison. He told me he had never spoken a word to anyone else, but he thought you did not mean it to apply to me. I am very glad he has spoken; for I shall carry away with me, across the sea, a deep gratitude, which will last as long as I live, for the kindness you have shown me; not only now, but always—kindness which has saved me from a terrible punishment, for an offence of which I was innocent.

"May God bless you, Miss Ellison, and render your life a happy one."

"Goodbye, Reuben," the girl said, gently. "I hope you may do well, in the new land you are going to."

So saying, she went on her errand. Reuben stood watching her, until she entered one of the cottages. Then, putting on his cap, he returned to the schoolmaster's.

A week later Reuben was wandering along the side of the London Docks, looking at the vessels lying there, and somewhat confused at the noise and bustle of loading and unloading that was going on. He had come up the night before by the carrier's waggon, and had slept at the inn where it stopped. His parting with his mother had been a very sad one, but Mrs. Whitney had so far come round as to own that she thought that his plan was perhaps the best; although she still maintained that she should never venture, herself, upon so distant a journey. He had promised that, should she not change her mind on this point, he would, whether successful or not, come home to see her.

The squire had driven over, the day before he left, to say goodbye to him. He had, through Mr. Shrewsbury, directly he heard that he was going, offered to help towards paying his passage money; but this offer Reuben had gratefully, though firmly, declined to accept.

"Well, Reuben, I wish you every good luck on your adventure," he said. "The place you are going to will be a great country, one of these days; and you are just the fellow to make your way in it. I am sorry you wouldn't let me help you; because I am in a way, you know, at the bottom of this business which has driven you from home."

"Thank you, squire, for your kind intention," Reuben answered; "but I am so much in your debt, now, that I would rather not go further into it. I am old enough now to make my own way in life. My only regret in the matter is that I cannot persuade my mother to go with me."

"I think she is right, Reuben," the squire replied. "You can transplant a young tree, easily enough; but you can't an old one. Somehow they won't take root in new soil.

"Well, lad, I wish you every success. I suppose I shall hear through Shrewsbury, from time to time, how you are going on."

As Reuben walked along the dock, he stopped to read the notices of their destination, affixed to the shrouds of most of the vessels. He had already gone on board three or four, which were loading for Australia, but in none was there a vacancy for a carpenter. He stopped before a fine-looking barque, to which no notice was attached.

"Where is she going to?" he asked a sailor, who was passing along the gangway to the shore.

"She's bound for Sydney," the sailor said. "She warps out of dock tonight, and takes on board a cargo of prisoners in the Medway."

"Do you mean men sentenced for transportation?" Reuben asked.

"Yes," the man said, "and I wish she had any other sort of cargo. I have been out with such a load before, and I would as soon go with a cargo of wild beasts."

Reuben felt a sudden chill, as he thought how narrow had been his escape of forming one of a similar party. However, he stepped on board, and went up to the mate, who was superintending the cargo.

"Do you want a carpenter for the voyage out?"

"A carpenter!" the mate repeated. "Well yes, we do want a carpenter. The man who was to have gone has been taken ill. But you are too young for the berth. Why, you don't look more than eighteen; besides, you don't look like a carpenter."

"I am a mill wright," Reuben said, "and am capable of doing any ordinary jobs, either in carpentering or smith work. I have testimonials here from my late employers."

"Well, you can see the captain, if you like," the mate said. "You will find him at Mr. Thompson's office, in Tower Street, Number 51."

Reuben at once made his way to the office. The captain refused, at first, to entertain the application on the ground of his youth; but ship's carpenters were scarce, the time was short, and there was a difficulty in obtaining men for convict ships. Therefore, after reading the very warm testimonial as to character and ability which Mr. Penfold had given Reuben, he agreed to take him, on the terms of his working his passage.

Reuben went back at once, to the inn where he had stopped, and had his chest taken down to the docks; and went on board the Paramatta which, at high water, warped out of dock into the stream.

Chapter 6: On The Voyage.

The next day the Paramatta weighed anchor and proceeded down the river. Reuben had no time to look at the passing ships, for he was fully occupied with the many odd jobs which are sure to present themselves, when a ship gets under weigh. The wind was favourable, and the Paramatta ran down to the mouth of the Medway before the tide had ceased to ebb. She anchored for three hours, and then made her way up to Chatham, where she brought up close to the government yard.

It was not till late in the evening that Reuben had finished his work, and was at liberty to look round, and to take an interest in what was going on on deck.

"This is your first voyage, my lad, I reckon," an old sailor, who was standing leaning against the bulwark, smoking his pipe, remarked.

"Yes," Reuben said cheerfully, "this is my first voyage. I have shipped as carpenter, you know, to work my way out to Sydney."

"You could not have chosen a better ship than this 'ere barkee," the sailor said; "though I wish she hadn't got them convicts on board. She will sail all the faster, 'cause, you see, instead of being choked up with cargo, the deck below there has been set aside for them. That will make easy sailing and quick sailing; but I don't like them, for all that. They are a lot of trouble, and they has to be watched, night and day. There's never no saying what they might be up to; there's mostly trouble on board, with them. Then one can't help being sorry for the poor chaps, though they does look such a villainous bad lot. They are treated mostly like dogs, and I have been on board ships where the rations was not what a decent dog would look at."

"But I thought there was regular food, according to a scale," Reuben said.

"Ay, there's that," the sailor replied, "and the government officers see that the quantity's right; but, Lor' bless you! They don't trouble as to quality, and some of the owners buys up condemned stores, and such like; anything, thinks they, is good enough for a convict ship—biscuits as is dropping to pieces, salt junk as 'as been twenty years in cask, and which was mostly horse to begin with. No wonder as they grumbles and growls. A convict is a man, you see, though he be a convict; and it ain't in human nature to eat such muck as that, without growling."

"What tonnage is the vessel?" Reuben asked.

"'Leven hundred and fifty ton, and as fine and roomy a ship as there is in the trade, and well officered. I have made three v'yages with the captain and first mate, and the second mate was with us on the last v'yage."

"How many hands are there, altogether?"

"Twenty-five, counting you as one, and not a-counting the two stewards."

"We are going to take some passengers, I see," Reuben said. "I have been at work, putting up pegs and shelves for them."

"Yes, there's eight or ten passengers, I hears," the sailor said. "Passengers don't mostly like going by convict ships, but then the fares are lower than by other vessels, and that tempts a few. Besides, the Paramatta is known to be a fast ship, and the skipper has a good name; so we shall have a better class of passengers, I expect, than usually voyages with convict ships; and besides the passengers there will be the officer of the convict guard, and a surgeon, so we shall be pretty full aft."

"And what will my duties be, when we are at sea?"

"It just depends on the captain," the sailor said. "You will be put in a watch, and work with the others, except that they may not send you aloft. That depends on the terms that you shipped."

"I shipped as carpenter, and to make myself generally useful, and to obey orders. I shall be happy to do anything I can; hard work is better than doing nothing, any day."

"That's the sort, my lad," the sailor said heartily. "Now I am sail maker, but, bless your heart! Except putting a patch on a sail, now and then, there's nothing to do that way; and when not so wanted I am one of the ordinary crew. Still, if you works your passage, it ain't to be expected as they will drive you the same as a man as is paid. He's a fair man, is the skipper; and you won't find yourself put upon, on board the Paramatta."

"Can't I go up aloft now?" Reuben asked. "I would rather accustom myself to it while we are lying steady, than go up when the wind's blowing, and she is heeling over."

"Go up! To be sure you can, and I will go up with you, and tell you some of the names of the ropes, and put you up to things. There's a pleasure in helping a lad who seems in any way teachable. Some of they boys as comes on board a ship ain't worth their salt, in these days."

The sailor led the way up the shrouds. Reuben found it much more difficult than it looked. He had seen the sailors running up and down, and it looked as easy as mounting a ladder; but the slackness of the ratlines—which, as the sailor told him, was the name of the pieces of rope which answered to the rounds of a ladder—made it at first awkward. When they reached the main top the sailor told him to sit down, and look round quietly, till he became accustomed to the height.

"It looks unnatural and risky, at first," he said; "but when you get accustomed to it, you will feel just as safe, when you are astraddle the end of a yard, and the ship rolling fit to take her masts out, as if you were standing on the deck."

As Reuben had heard the sailors laughing and joking aloft, as they hauled out the earrings of the sails, he had no doubt that what the sailor said was true; but it seemed, to him, that he should never accustom himself to sit at the end of a spar, with nothing but the water at a vast depth below. It would be bad, even with the ship lying quiet, as at present. It would be terrible with the vessel in a heavy sea.

The sailor now told him the names of the masts and stays, giving him a general idea of the work aloft, and presently asked him whether he would like to return to the deck now, or to mount a bit higher. Although Reuben was now becoming accustomed to the position, he would, had he consulted his inner feelings, have rather gone down than up; but he thought it was better to put a good face on it, and to accustom himself, at once, to what he would probably have to do sooner or later.

Holding on tight then, and following the instructions of his companion, he made his way up until he was seated on the cap of the top-gallant mast, holding tight to the spar, which towered still higher above him. He was surprised at the size and strength of the spars, which had looked so light and slender, from below.

"Very well done, lad," the sailor said approvingly. "You would make a good sailor, in time, if you took to a seafaring life. There's not one in ten as would get up there, the first time of going aloft. You don't feel giddy, do you?"

"No," Reuben replied, "I don't think I feel giddy, but I feel a strange shaky feeling in my legs."

"That will soon pass off," the sailor said. "You look at them hills behind the town, and the forts and works up there. Don't think about the deck of the vessel, or anything, but just as if you were sitting in a chair, watching the hills."

Reuben did as the sailor instructed him and, as he did so, the feeling of which he was before conscious passed completely away.

"I feel all right now," he said, after sitting quietly for a few minutes.

"All right, then; down we go. Don't look below, but just keep your eyes in front of you, and never leave go of one grip till you make sure of the next."

Five minutes later he stood on the deck.

"Well done, my lad, for the first time," the first mate said, as Reuben put his foot on the deck "I have had my eye on you. I shouldn't have let you go beyond the top, at the first trial; but I didn't think you would go higher, till you were fairly up, otherwise I should have hailed you from the deck.

"You ought not to have taken him up above the top, Bill. If he had lost his head, it would have been all up with him."

"I could see he wasn't going to lose his head. Trust me for not leading a young hand into danger. He was a little flustrated, when he got into the top; but after he had sat down a bit, his breath come quiet and regular again, and I could see there was no chance of his nerve going."

The next morning, soon after daybreak, the dockyard boats began to row alongside, with grey-coated convicts. Reuben watched them as they came on board, with a sort of fascination with their closely cut hair, bullet heads, and evil faces. Although he had no doubt that the repulsive expression was due partly to the close-cut hair and shaved faces, and their hideous garb, he could scarcely repress a shudder as he looked at them. In some faces an expression of brutal ferocity was dominant. Others had a shifty, cunning look, no less repulsive.

There were a few good-humoured faces, one or two so different from the others, that Reuben wondered whether they were innocent victims of circumstances, as he had so nearly been. Not till now did he quite realize how great his escape had been. The thought that he might have had to spend the rest of his life herding with such men as these, made him feel almost sick; and he thanked God more fervently, even, than he had done when the verdict was returned which restored him to his liberty, that he had been saved from such a fate.

A hundred and eighty convicts came on board. They were in charge of ten warders, with loaded muskets, and an hour later a party of twenty marines, under the charge of an officer, also embarked. They were on their way out to join a ship in Australian waters, and were to aid the warders in keeping the convicts in good order.

The wind being favourable, no time was lost after the marines had come on board. The moorings were cast off and sails hoisted, and the Paramatta made her way against the tide to the mouth of the Medway; and there dropped her anchor to wait until the tide began to ebb, for the wind was so light that little would have been gained by an attempt to proceed at once. Sail was made again as soon as tide turned and, on turning out next morning at daylight, for he had not yet been assigned to a watch, Reuben found that the ship was lying at anchor in the Downs.

Two or three hours passed.

"What are we doing here, Bill?"

"We are waiting for the passengers. They are all coming on board here. I expect that big lugger you see, running out direct for us, 'as got them on board."

"I wonder they didn't come on board when we started," Reuben said. "I should think it would have been pleasanter than coming all the way down to Dover by coach."

"So I should think, my lad; but you see, it ain't every time as a ship has the luck we've had. It's a long job coming down to the Downs, if the wind don't serve. We might have been beating about there, at the mouth of the Thames, for a week. So you see, most of these 'longshore chaps like to send their traps on board while the vessel's in the docks, and then to come down here and stop till she comes round."

In a few minutes the lugger was alongside, the gangway was lowered, and the passengers began to come on board. They were, as the sailor had said they would be, some ten in number. There were six men, four ladies, and three children, the latter not counting as regular passengers, as they were stowed away in their parents' cabins.

The convicts who were on deck looked over the bulwarks, and cracked coarse jokes among themselves, as the passengers ascended the gangway. Reuben found that only one-third of the number were allowed on deck at once. Two soldiers paced up and down the deck, on guard of the hatchway leading below, and two sentries were posted at other points.

A number of small boxes, bags, coats and cloaks were handed up, and then the rope was cast off, and the lugger made her way back to Dover, and the Paramatta again got under sail. While they had been waiting, the chief mate had told Reuben that, according to the captain's orders, he would henceforth be in his watch.

"As you are not regularly shipped as a sailor," the mate said, "the captain does not wish you to go aloft, unless by your own desire; but there will be plenty of work for you to do on deck, hauling at the braces, scrubbing, and so on."

"I should be glad to do my work with the rest," Reuben said, "as soon as I feel I can be useful aloft. I was up two or three times yesterday, and hope in a few days to be quite accustomed to it."

"I have noticed you, my lad, and you could not be in better hands than Bill's. He is a capital sailor, and as he has taken to you, and you are willing to learn, you will be a useful hand before we get to Sydney; and even if you never go to sea again, all your life, you will find that you have learned a great deal that is useful on board the Paramatta."

The fine weather, which the Paramatta had experienced so far, speedily left her. The sky grew overcast, and the wind freshened fast, and the next morning the ship was staggering, under close-reefed canvas, in the teeth of the southwesterly gale.

For the next three days Reuben made no advance in seamanship, being prostrated with seasickness. At times he crept out from the forecastle, and tried to lend a hand whenever he saw a party of men hauling at a rope; but the motion of the ship was so great that he could scarce keep his feet on the slippery decks, and at last the mate ordered him to go back to the forecastle, and remain there until he recovered somewhat from his sickness.

"I see you are no skulker, my lad; but you will do no good on deck here, and are not unlikely to get a heavy fall, and perhaps a nasty hurt, so you had best lie off till you get over your sickness."

Reuben was already drenched to the skin by the spray, and felt so weak that he was not sorry to avail himself of the mate's orders, and to turn in again to his bunk in the forecastle.

On the morning of the fourth day he felt himself again, and turned out. The gale had almost blown itself out, but the sea was very heavy. The fresh air was delightful to Reuben, after the confinement in the forecastle; and as his watch was on deck, he at once went up to Bill and asked him what he could do.

"Glad to see you about agin, Reuben," the sailor said. "You have had a worse time of it than most. There is a lot of difference atween chaps. Some takes it bad, and some is never ill from the first. Well, there ain't nothing to do at present, but just hold on and get to feel your legs. Don't you try to go across the deck, if the hands are called, until you are accustomed to it; else you will get a fall, to a certainty."

"Is the gale nearly over, Bill?"

"Why, it's quite over. Don't you see that for yourself?"

"It seems to me to blow hard now."

"Blow hard! Why, there ain't a capful of wind. It was blowing pretty hard yesterday, if you like, but not worth calling a gale. If you are lucky, you are like to know what a gale is, when we get south of the Cape. The wind does blow there, when it has made up its mind. That's the place where they say as the helmsman has to have two men, regular, to hold on his hair."

Reuben laughed.

"I think on the whole, Bill, I would rather get to Sydney without meeting a storm like that. This has been quite enough for me. Why, some of the waves hit the vessel's bow as if they would have knocked it in."

"Wait till you have a gale in earnest, Master Reuben, and you will know about it then. Of course it seemed worse to you, because you were lying there a-doing nothing, and was weak-like with heaving yourself up. If you had been on deck, you would have seen as it was nothing worth talking about.

"Look at the ship. Everything's in its place, and ship-shape."

"Why, what has become of the tall spars aloft," Reuben said, looking up.

"Oh, they were sent down when the wind freshened," Bill said. "There ain't nothing in that."

"Where are the convicts, Bill?"

"Oh, they are all battened down below," the sailor said carelessly. "They only come up for an airing when the weather is fine. They are like the passengers only, instead of pleasing themselves, their ways are marked out for them."

"Have any of the passengers been up?"

"Two or three of the men have shown, and a gal. It ain't her first voyage, I'll bet. A pretty thing she is, and as straight as a mast. She's been on deck, off and on, ever since we started."

The next morning the sea moderated greatly and, the wind having gone round to the southeast, the Paramatta made the most of it, to get west as far as possible before turning her head to the south.

"That's a slice of luck," Bill Hardy said to Reuben; "there's nothing like getting well off, at the start. With luck, now, we oughtn't to see the land till we make the Cape."

"But I would rather see the land, Bill. When one is going half round the globe, it is pleasant to touch at ports on the way, and to get a glimpse at foreign peoples and ways."

"Ay, I like a spree on shore," Bill agreed; "but after all, it don't last long; and when you are near land, there's always the chance that the wind may shift round, and you may find yourself dead on a lee shore. The skipper gets anxious and the mates out of temper, and if it does come on to blow hard, from the wrong quarter, there's never no saying what will come of it.

"No, my lad, there's nothing like a good open sea, with no land within five hundred miles of you, at the least. The coast of Africa ain't a pleasant neighbour. What with the low shores, which you don't see till you are pretty nigh close to them; what with the currents and the changeable winds, and the precious bad lookout there is, if you do get cast ashore, I tell you the wider berth you gives it, the better."

The next morning was so fine and bright that all the passengers were on deck, and after breakfast the word was passed forward that the carpenter was wanted. Reuben found that he was wanted to nail some strips of wood on the floor of some of the cabins, to prevent the boxes from shooting out from under the berths when the vessel rolled. As he was at work at one of these, a young lady came to the door of the cabin, and uttered a little exclamation of surprise at seeing Reuben kneeling on the floor. Then, seeing what he was doing, she said:

"Oh, you are the carpenter, I suppose?"

"Yes, miss."

"I wish you would screw on some pegs I brought with me, to hang things upon. Everything does get thrown about so, when the ship's rolling. They are in that trunk, if you will not mind pulling it out."

Reuben pulled out the trunk, which the girl opened and, after some search, produced half-a-dozen iron clothes pegs. She showed him where she wished them screwed on, and stood looking on while he carried out her instructions.

"Are you the ship's carpenter?"

"Yes, miss."

"You seem very young for a carpenter, don't you?"

"I am young," Reuben replied, smiling, "and this is my first voyage. Fortunately for me, the hand who was engaged hurt himself, just as the vessel was sailing, so I obtained the berth. So far it does not appear that it is a difficult one."

The girl looked at him a little curiously. His manner of talk and conversation differed, so much, from the sailors in general.

"Are you really a carpenter?" she asked. "You don't look like a carpenter."

"Yes, I am really a carpenter," Reuben answered; "at least, I am a mill wright by trade. We are a sort of half and half between carpenter and smith.

"Is there anything else?" he asked, as he finished screwing the last screw.

"No, nothing else, thank you," the girl answered. "That will do very nicely, and I am much obliged to you."

After finishing his work in the cabins, Reuben went forward.

"Captain," the young lady said, as she went upon deck, "I have been talking to that young carpenter of yours. I am quite interested in him. Is he really a carpenter? He does not talk a bit like one."

"I believe so, Miss Hudson," the captain replied. "At least, he produced an excellent testimonial from his last employer, when I engaged him. Of course, it might not have been genuine. If there had been time, I should have made more inquiries; but he was well spoken, and had an earnest look about him. But, now you mention it, I don't know that it is very wise letting him go into all the cabins, when I know so little about him."

"Oh, I never thought of that!" the girl exclaimed. "I am sure he looks honest. It was only because he spoke so well that I mentioned it."

"He seems to be a sharp young fellow," the captain remarked, "and I see that he has taken to going aloft with the rest of the crew already. He is an emigrant rather than a sailor, for he has only shipped for a passage. I don't know whether he is going to join a man, out there; but if not, he is certainly young to go out on his own account. I do not think he's more than eighteen. He looks so young, he cannot have served all his time at his trade."

"I really feel quite interested in him, Captain Wilson," the girl said, turning to a gentleman standing by, who had been listening to the conversation. "I wish, if you get an opportunity, you would get into conversation with this carpenter of ours, and find out something about him."

"I will, if you like, Miss Hudson; but I don't suppose there's much to find out, and what there is, he's not likely to tell me. From what you say, I should guess that he had had a bad master, and had run away."

"But the captain said he had good testimonials," Miss Hudson persisted.

"As to testimonials," the gentleman said, "anyone can write a testimonial."

"How suspicious you are, Captain Wilson!" the girl laughed. "That's the worst of being a police officer, and having to do with criminals. You think whoever you come across is a rogue, until you find out he is an honest man. Now, I think everyone is honest, till I find him out to be a rogue."

"My way is the safest," the officer laughed. "At any rate, on board this ship there are five rogues to each honest man."

"Ah, but that's not a fair average," the girl objected. "Of course, in the colony one has to be careful, considering that half the shepherds and stockmen are convicts, and I must own that the natives are nearly all thieves; but how could it be otherwise, when England sends all its rogues out to us? You see, when free labour gets more abundant, and we can do without convicts, the colonists will protest against it."

"Very likely they will," the officer agreed; "but what is England to do, if she has nowhere to send her rogues?"

"That is her business," Miss Hudson said carelessly. "There is no reason why they should be shoved on to us. In the old time, when there were no colonies, England managed somehow, and I suppose she could do so again."

"She managed in a very short way," Captain Wilson said. "She hung them as fast as she caught them. It did not matter much what the offence was, whether stealing a loaf or killing a man; but she could hardly go back to that, now."

"No, she could not," Miss Hudson agreed; "but I have no doubt she can find something useful for them to do, when she has to keep them at home.

"Don't you think so, captain?"

"I daresay she could," the captain answered. "Certainly, if I were a colonist living in a lonely part of the country, I should object to transportation for, what with the natives and bush rangers and bad characters generally, no one can say their life is safe."

"Oh, it's not so bad as that, captain!" Miss Hudson said indignantly. "You are giving the place a bad character."

"I think Captain Wilson will agree it's a true one," the captain said, smiling.

"Eh, Captain Wilson?"

"I am afraid so," the latter replied. "I know they keep me pretty busy. However, after a year's holiday, I must not grumble if I find plenty to do when I get there."

The voyage down to the Cape was wholly uneventful. The Paramatta was most fortunate in her weather and, beyond trimming the sails, the crew had a very easy time of it. Captain Wilson had, as he promised Miss Hudson, taken the opportunity, when Reuben was sitting idly on deck, of having a chat with him; but he did not learn much in the course of the conversation.

"Your young carpenter puzzles me, Miss Hudson," he said to her at dinner. "He is certainly an altogether exceptionally well-spoken young fellow, for his condition of life; but I can't quite make him out. I think that he has worked as a mill wright. He spoke openly and without hesitation as to his work. But how it is he has thrown it up and emigrated, so young, I can't make out. Of course he cannot have served his time and yet, somehow, I don't think that he has run away, from the manner in which he spoke of his employer.

"He has no friends whatever in the colony, as far as I could learn. I should say he has certainly been fairly educated, and yet he seems, from his own account, to have worked three or four years at his trade.

"I certainly like the lad, though I own that, so far, I cannot altogether make him out. Perhaps I shall learn somewhat more about him, before we get to the end of the voyage, and in that case I will tell you all I know."

Miss Hudson was the daughter of a wealthy flock owner—or, as he was called, squatter—in New South Wales. Her father and mother were on board the ship with her. This was her fifth voyage. She had gone out as a baby with her parents; and had returned to England, at the age of ten, to be educated. When eighteen, she had joined her mother and father in Australia and, two years later, had come with them to Europe, and had spent some months travelling on the Continent. They were now on their way back to the colony.

The only other single lady among the passengers of the Paramatta was going out, under the charge of the captain, to fill a place as governess in a family in Sydney. Miss Furley was somewhat quiet, but a friendship had naturally sprang up between her and Miss Hudson, as the only two young women on board the ship; and the life and high spirits of the young colonist, and the musical acquirements of Miss Furley, helped to make the voyage pass pleasantly for the passengers in the Paramatta.

Captain Wilson had a good tenor voice, and sang well; and one of the other passengers was able to furnish a bass. Almost every evening, as the ship was running down the tropics before a gentle favouring breeze, the sound of solo and glee singing rose from the little party gathered on the poop; and even the convicts, on deck forward, ceased their talk and listened to the strains.

Although the passage had been a pleasant one, there was a general feeling of satisfaction when the ship dropped her anchor in Table Bay. Most of the passengers went on shore at once, to take up their quarters at the hotel till she sailed again. The captain said that it would take at least a couple of days to fill up the water tanks, and take in a supply of fresh provisions.

On the afternoon of the second day, Reuben asked permission of the first mate to go ashore for a few hours.

"Certainly, Whitney," the officer said. "You have proved a very useful hand on the way out, which is more than most do who work their passage. Nine out of ten of them are not worth their salt, to say nothing of the rest of their rations. You can stay on shore tonight, if you like; but you must come off early in the morning. We hope to get away in good time."

On landing, Reuben was much struck with the variety of the scene. In the streets of Cape Town were men of many types. Here was the English merchant and man of business, looking and dressing just as he would at home. Names over the shop doors were for the most part Dutch, as was the appearance of the majority of the white men in the streets. Dutch farmers in broad hats and homespun garments, mounted on rough ponies, clattered along through the streets. The manual work was for the most part done by swarthy natives, while among the crowd were numbers of Malays, with dark olive skins, small eyes, and jet-black hair, their women being arrayed in every shade of gaudy colour.

For some time Reuben wandered about the streets, greatly amused at all he saw. Towards evening he turned his face towards the sea, as he had no wish to avail himself of the permission given him to sleep on shore. Presently he encountered Miss Hudson and Miss Furley, walking the other way. The former nodded brightly, for she had several times spoken to Reuben, since their first acquaintanceship.

Reuben touched his hat, and proceeded on his way. He had gone but a few yards when he heard a loud cry, and everyone darted suddenly into shops or round corners.

Looking round in surprise, Reuben saw what had caused the movement. A Malay, with his long hair streaming down his shoulders, was rushing down the street, giving vent to terrible yells; in his hand he held a crease, with which, just as Reuben looked round, he cut down a native who had tried, too late, to make his escape.

The two English girls, confused and alarmed at the sudden outburst; and unable, until too late, to comprehend the cause of it, stood alone in the middle of the street and, too terrified now to move, clung to each other, regardless of the shouts to fly raised by people at the windows and doors.

The Malay, with a howl of exultation, made at them with uplifted crease. Reuben sprang forward, passed the terrified women when the Malay was within four paces of them, and threw himself with all his force upon him. The Malay, whose eyes were fixed upon the ladies, was taken by surprise by the assault; and his crease had not time to fall when Reuben sprang upon him.

The shock threw both to the ground; Reuben, as he fell, throwing both arms round his adversary. The Malay struggled furiously, and the combatants rolled over and over on the ground. Strong as Reuben was, the frenzy of the Malay gave him greater power; and the lad felt he could not long retain his grip of the arm with which the Malay strove to use his crease.

Help, however, was not long in coming. A native policeman ran up at full speed; and brought his heavy club, with his full force, down on the head of the Malay. The latter's limbs at once relaxed, and Reuben sprang to his feet; breathless, but not seriously harmed, although the blood was freely flowing from some slight wounds he had received from the Malay's sharp-edged weapon.

Chapter 7: Gratitude.

Reuben looked round, upon gaining his feet. He saw Miss Hudson standing by the side of her companion; who had fallen, fainting, to the ground. Mr. Hudson and Captain Wilson, running at their full speed, were within a few paces of the girls. They had entered a shop to make a purchase, while the ladies strolled on; and although they had rushed out on hearing the alarm, they were too far off to render assistance and, impotent to help, had seen with horror the terrible death which threatened the ladies.

Frances Hudson had not uttered a word, from the moment when the Malay rushed down upon them; but as her father came up she turned round, and burst into tears as he clasped her in his arms.

As soon as it was seen that the Malay was no longer dangerous, the people poured out again from the houses and shops. It was no very unusual thing, in Cape Town, for the Malays to run amuck; and many of those in the streets hurried off, in the direction from which the man had come, to inquire how many victims had fallen to his deadly crease, and to see whether any friends were among them. On the Malay himself no one spared a moment's attention. A second tremendous blow, with the policeman's club, had dashed out his brains; for Malays running amuck were always killed upon the spot, partly in order to save further trouble with them, partly to strike terror into others.

Many of the bystanders gathered round Reuben, seized him by the hand, patting him on the shoulder, and praising him for the courage with which he had faced the maddened savage. A minute later, Mr. Hudson forced his way through the crowd. Miss Furley had already been raised, and carried into a shop.

"Go in with her, my dear," Mr. Hudson said to his daughter. "I will bring him to you directly.

"My brave fellow!" he exclaimed, as he made his way to Reuben and grasped his hand, "how can I thank you for saving my child's life? It seemed to us that she was lost, and that nothing could save her; when we saw you dash past her, and throw yourself unarmed upon the madman. It was a noble deed, indeed.

"You are not badly hurt, I hope," he added, as he saw the blood streaming down Reuben's face and arm.

"Nothing to speak of, sir," Reuben replied. "At least, I think not; but I feel rather queer from this loss of blood. I had better get myself bandaged up."

And indeed, Reuben was turning very pale, partly from the relaxation of the tension of the struggle; partly, as he said, from loss of blood.

"Stand back!" Mr. Hudson cried, "don't press upon him. The lad is nearly fainting. One of you help me get him into a shop. Where is the nearest surgeon to be found?"

It was as much as Reuben could do to walk across the street, aided by his two supporters. A strong glass of Cape smoke (as the native spirit is called) and water revived him somewhat. It was some minutes before a surgeon arrived; for five persons had been terribly wounded, and two killed by the Malay on his course, and the surgeons near were busily employed.

"Not very serious," the surgeon said, as soon as he examined Reuben's wounds. "Very different affairs from those I have just come from."

"I had hold of his hand," Reuben said, "so that he couldn't strike. They are only cuts he made in trying to get his arm free."

"That on your arm will not trouble you, though it has bled pretty freely. The one down your face is, fortunately, of no great consequence; except that it has cut down to the bone on the brow and cheek. If it had been an inch further back, it would have severed the temporal artery. You have had a narrow escape of it. As it is, you will get off with a scar, which may last for some time; but as it is an honourable one, perhaps you won't so much care. However, I will bring it together as well as I can, and stitch it up, and it may not show much."

The wound was sewn up and then bandaged, as was that on the arm. The other and slighter wounds were simply drawn together by slips of plaster. When all was done, Reuben said to Mr. Hudson:

"I shall do very well now, sir. I am sure you must wish to go to Miss Hudson. I will sit here a bit longer, and then go on board the ship."

"You will do nothing of the kind," Mr. Hudson said. "I have just sent for a vehicle, and you will come to the hotel and get into bed at once. You are not fit to stand now, but I hope a good night's rest will do you good."

Reuben would have protested, but at this moment a vehicle arrived at the door, and with it Captain Wilson entered.

"I have just taken your daughter and Miss Furley to the hotel, Hudson," he said. "They are both greatly shaken, and no wonder. So I thought it better to see them back, before coming in to shake hands with our gallant young friend here."

"He has lost a good deal of blood, Wilson; and I am just taking him off, to get him to bed in the hotel.

"So we won't do any thanking till the morning," Mr. Hudson said, seeing that Reuben's lip quivered, and he was incapable of bearing any further excitement. "Do you take one of his arms and I will take the other, and get him into that trap."

A quarter of an hour later, Reuben was in bed at the hotel. Mr. Hudson brought him up a basin of clear soup. Having drunk this, he turned over and was, in a very few minutes, asleep. The captain and most of the other passengers were at the same hotel, and there was great excitement when the news arrived of the terrible danger the two girls had run. Mrs. Hudson had, from her early life, been accustomed to emergencies; and the instant the girls arrived she took them up to the room they shared between them, and insisted upon their going at once to bed, after partaking of a cup of tea.

"What am I to do for this young fellow, Wilson?" Mr. Hudson asked as, having seen his patient comfortably in bed, he returned downstairs, and took a seat in the verandah by his fellow passenger. "I owe Frances' life to him, and there is nothing I wouldn't do for him. The question is, what? One does not like to offer money to a man, for such a service as this."

"No," Mr. Wilson agreed, "especially in his case. The young fellow appears to me very much above his condition. Your daughter first pointed it out to me, and I have since chatted with him several times, and find him a very superior young fellow. Certainly his education has been very different from that of most men in his condition of life, and I should have taken him for a gentleman, who had got into some scrape and run away, had it not been that he seems to have been regularly apprenticed to his trade. Still, there is something a little mysterious about him. I asked him casually what part of the country he came from. He hesitated a moment, and then said, 'From the south of England.' Of course, I did not ask any further questions, as it was clear he did not care about naming the precise locality, or he would not have given so vague an answer. I feel as deeply indebted to him as you do."

Mr. Hudson nodded. Only the evening before arriving at Cape Town, Captain Wilson had spoken to him on the matter of his affection for his daughter, and had asked his permission to speak to Frances. They had known each other in the colony, but had not been intimate until thrown together on board the Paramatta. Seeing that she was an only child, and that her father was considered one of the wealthiest squatters in the colony, Captain Wilson had feared that Mr. Hudson would not approve of him as a suitor; and had therefore broached the subject to him, before speaking to her. Mr. Hudson, however, had raised no objections.

"You have taken a manly and proper course, in speaking to me first," he said; "just what I should have expected from you. I own that, with the fortune the girl will have some day, I have always looked for her making what they call a good match, and settling down in the old country; but I may tell you that while she has been in Europe she has had several opportunities of so doing, if she would have taken them. She did not think fit to do so, and I have always made up my mind not to influence her in any way, providing she didn't fix her choice upon one whose character I disapproved. Certainly I have no reasons for so doing, in the present case. Your character stands high in the colony; and personally, as you are well aware, I like you exceedingly.

"What Frances' feelings in the matter are, I have no means of knowing. There is no doubt she likes you, but as to anything more, it is for you to find out. You will have plenty of time, between this and Sydney. Anyhow, you have my hearty approval of your wooing.

"I think, between ourselves you know, you must not expect, at first, any very cordial approval on the part of her mother. She had an idea, you know, that Frances would marry a duke at least, and an offer from a prince of the blood would not have surprised her. It is a great disappointment, to her, that she should have returned unmarried; and she has already been talking to me about our returning to England, in another couple of years. So she will not take quite kindly to it, at first; but you mustn't mind that. Fond of Frances as she is, she will soon come round, if she finds that the girl's happiness is really concerned in the matter.

"Take my advice, and don't push it till we get near the end of the voyage. If Frances says yes, she is the sort of girl to stick to it; and as I am with you, you may be quite sure it will come right in the long run; but we might not have a very pleasant time of it during the remainder of the voyage, you know, and as things have gone on so pleasantly, it would be a pity to spoil them."

Thus it was that Mr. Hudson nodded, when the young officer of the constabulary said that his indebtedness to Reuben was equal to his own.

"Yes," he said, "if it had been one of the sailors, I could have set the matter right by drawing a big cheque, and I shouldn't have cared how big; but with this young fellow I do not quite see my way. However, I will shift the responsibility, by leaving the matter in Frances' hands—women are much better hands at things of this sort, that require a light touch, than we are. I do not wonder that she and Miss Furley are shaken. I feel shaken myself. I shall never forget that scene, and the two girls standing there, and that wild Malay rushing at them. My legs seemed to give way under me, and I thought I should have fallen down."

"I felt bad myself, sir," Captain Wilson said. "I have been in some tough fights, with bush rangers and natives; but I never had that sort of feeling before.

"One ran, but one felt it was no use running, as all must be over before we could get there. When it was over, I felt as weak as a child."

"Don't let us talk any more about it," Mr. Hudson said, rising. "I doubt whether I shall get a wink of sleep now; and I am sure I sha'n't, if we go on talking any more about it. Let us take a turn, and have a stiff glass of brandy and water afterwards, to settle our nerves before turning in."

The passengers by the Paramatta were up early in the morning, for the ship was to sail at nine. But early as they were, Reuben was before them; and on Mr. Hudson inquiring about him, as he turned out, he was informed that he had already gone on board the ship.

The two girls both looked pale, when they came down to their early breakfast. Both declared, however, that they had slept well.

"You must give us time, dad, to get up our roses," Frances Hudson said, in reply to her father's remarks as to their appearance. "I have no doubt a few days at sea will do it; but of course, it is only right and proper that young ladies should be pale, after going through such an adventure as we had yesterday.

"But do not let us talk about it," she said, with a shudder. "I should like not to be able to think about it, again, for six months. You used to say, dad, that I was plucky, because I wasn't afraid of wild cattle, and not very afraid of the natives or bush rangers; but I am sure I cannot lay claim to any special courage in future, for no one in the world could feel more frightened than I did, yesterday."

"Well, my dear, you were no worse than anyone else, for everyone else bolted at the first alarm. The way that street was cleared was something marvellous."

"Yes, dad; but I was too frightened to run. Not that it would have been any use if I had, for he was close to us before we knew what was the matter; and if I could have run, I don't think Emma could."

"No, indeed," Miss Furley said. "I had no idea of running and, even had there been plenty of time, I am sure I could not have got out of the way. Somehow I seemed to lose all power to move. I had just shut my eyes, and thought it was all over, when there was a shout and a rush, and I saw the Malay roll over; and then I made a snatch at Frances, and rolled over, too."

"It was a terrible moment," Mr. Hudson said. "But I agree, with Frances, that it is better for you to try and think nothing more about it, until you have perfectly recovered your health and spirits."

"I hear, dad, that the young man that saved us has gone on board ship. I asked, directly I was up, because I wanted to see him."

"And I expect, my dear, that he slipped away because he didn't want to see you. It sounds rude, doesn't it? But I can perfectly understand it."

"So can I," the girl agreed. "Did you see him this morning?"

"No, my dear. I came downstairs only a minute or two before you did, and then found that he was gone."

"Have you thought over what you are going to do, dad, for him?"

"Wilson and I have talked it over, Frances, but at present we don't see our way. It is too serious a matter to make up our minds in a hurry. Your mother is in favour of giving him a handsome present; but I don't think, myself, that that would do. Men who will do such deeds as that are not the sort of men to be paid by money."

"Oh no, dad! Surely not that. Any other possible way, but not money."

"No, my dear; so I thought. I have chatted it over with Wilson, and we have agreed that the best plan is to leave it entirely in your hands."

"I will think it over, dad," the girl said gravely. "It is a serious thing. We owe him our lives, and the least we can do is not to hurt his feelings, by the way in which we try to show our gratitude."

Reuben had slept well; and on waking, soon after daylight, jumped at once out of bed; and was glad to feel that, except for a certain amount of weakness in the legs, and stiffness in his wounds, he was all right again. He dressed quietly and, as soon as he heard persons moving about in the hotel, made his way down to the shore, and sat down there to wait for a boat from the ship; which was lying some distance out, and would, he was sure, be sending off early, as there would be many things to bring on board before she sailed.

It was not long before he saw the men descending the gangway to the boat alongside, which was soon rowing towards the shore. As she approached, Reuben saw the steward and first mate, sitting in the stern seats; and when the officer jumped ashore, his eye fell on Reuben.

"Ah, Whitney," he said, "I am glad to see you about. When the captain came off, last night, he told me all about your gallant rescue of the two ladies. I am sorry to see you bandaged up so much. The captain said you had some nasty cuts, but I didn't think they were so bad."

"They are nothing to speak about, sir," Reuben replied, "although you would think so, from seeing those bandages all over one side of the face, and my arm in a sling; but they are no great depth, and don't hurt to speak of. They were clean cuts with a sharp edge, and don't hurt half as much as many a knock I have had, with a hammer."

"Well, we all feel proud of you, my lad. It isn't everyone who would face a Malay running amuck, without weapons, I can tell you."

"I think any English sailor would do so, sir, if he saw the Malay rushing down upon two ladies. There was no time to think about danger, one way or the other. The only thing to be done was to rush at him, and so I rushed, as anyone else would have done."

"Ah, it's all very well to say so, Whitney; but I have my doubts about everyone else rushing. However, I mustn't stand talking about it now, as I have my hands full of work. The sooner you get on board the ship, the better.

"Row Whitney back to the ship, lads, and come back again in an hour's time. None of the things will be down here before that."

Reuben stepped into the boat, which at once pushed off. The men rowed easily, for they were anxious to hear the particulars of the report which had circulated through the ship. Bill Hardy was rowing the stroke oar, and did the questioning.

"You may try to make little of it," he said, "but I tell you, Reuben, it were a right down good thing—a thing any man would have right to be proud of.

"What do you say, mates?"

There was a general chorus of "Ay, ay."

"I took you in hand when you came on board, young un," Bill went on, "and I looks upon you as my chick, and I tell you I feel proud on you. I felt sure you would turn out a good un, some day, but I didn't look to see it so quick.

"In oars!"

The boat ran up alongside the gangway, and Reuben was soon upon deck. He was there met by the captain, who had just come up as the boat rowed alongside. He shook Reuben's hand heartily.

"You are a fine young fellow, Whitney; and your mother, if you have one, ought to be proud of you. I should be, if you were a son of mine. It was a lucky day for us all, when I shipped you on board the Paramatta; for it would have been a heavy day for us, if those two young ladies had been killed by that madman, yesterday.

"You look pale, lad, as much as one can see of you, and you will have to lie by for a bit. I hear you lost a great deal of blood.

"Steward, bring another cup of cocoa with mine, a large one, and put plenty of milk in."

The captain insisted on Reuben coming to his cabin to drink his cocoa.

"You had best knock off your allowance of spirits, till your wounds have healed up, lad. I will tell the second mate to serve you out port wine, instead."

Reuben now went forward, feeling very much the better for the cocoa. He again had to receive the hearty congratulations of the men; and then, rather to escape from this than because he felt he needed it, he turned into his bunk, and was soon sound asleep.

Three hours later, he was awakened by the tramp of men overhead, and knew that they were shortening the anchor chain, and preparing to be off. Going out on to the deck, he saw that the courses had been dropped, and the topsails were lying loose in their gaskets. The crew were singing merrily, as they worked the capstan. Three of the boats already hung from the davits, and two large boats were bringing off the passengers, and were already within a hundred yards of the ship; while the remaining ship's boat, with the steward, crowded with fresh stores, was but a short way behind them. As soon as the passengers were up, and the shore boats had left, she came alongside.

"Hook on the falls at once," the first mate ordered, "and run her up as she is. You can get the things out afterwards."

The anchor was, by this time, under the foot.

"Up with it, lads!" and the sailors again started, at full speed, on the capstan.

The jibs were run up, the courses and topsails shaken out and braced, and the Paramatta began to steal through the water again, for the second portion of her voyage. Mr. Hudson and his friend very soon made their way forward, and the ship was scarcely under way when Reuben, who was gazing over the bulwark at the shore, felt a hand laid on his shoulder.

"How are you today, Reuben? Better, I hope? It was too bad of you to run off in that way, this morning."

"I am all right now, thank you, sir," Reuben answered. "I felt just a little shaky at first, but the captain gave me a cup of cocoa when I came on board, and I feel now as if I were fit for duty again."

"Oh, nonsense," Mr. Hudson exclaimed, "you mustn't think of work, for days yet. No, you must come aft with me. My daughter and Miss Furley are most anxious to see you; and my wife, too, is longing to add her thanks to mine."

"You are very good, sir, but really I would rather not, if you will excuse me. It is horrid being thanked and made a fuss about, just because, on the spur of the moment, one did one's duty."

"That's all very well, Reuben; but you see, it wouldn't be fair to my daughter. If anyone did you a great service, you would want to thank them, would you not?"

"Yes, I suppose so, sir," Reuben answered reluctantly; "but really, I hate it."

"I can understand your feelings, my lad, but you must make up your mind to do it. When anyone puts others under a vast obligation to him, he must submit to be thanked, however much he may shrink from it. Come along, it will not be very dreadful."

Reuben saw that there was no getting out of it, and followed Mr. Hudson along the deck; feeling, however, more ashamed and uncomfortable even than he did when standing in the dock, as a criminal. Captain Wilson walked beside him. Hitherto he had not spoken, but he now laid his hand quietly upon Reuben's shoulder.

"My lad," he said, "I am not a man to talk much; but believe me that, henceforth, I am your friend for life."

Reuben looked up, with a little smile which showed that he understood. He had often, indeed, watched the young officer and Miss Hudson together, and had guessed that they were more than mere acquaintances.

The passengers were, with the exception of the three ladies, all gathered on the poop. But Frances had proposed to her mother that they should see Reuben in the cabin alone, as she felt that it would be a severe ordeal, to the lad, to be publicly thanked. Captain Wilson ascended to the poop and joined the others there, while Mr. Hudson went alone into the cabin.

The three ladies were awaiting him there. Frances came forward first. The tears were standing in her eyes.

"You have saved my life," she said softly, "at the risk of your own; and I thank you with all my heart, not only for my own sake, but for that of my father and mother; who would have been childless, today, had it not been for you."

"I need no thanks, Miss Hudson," Reuben said quietly.

His shyness had left him, as he entered the cabin.

"It will, all my life, be a source of pleasure and gratification to me, that I have been able to have been of service to so bright and kind a lady."

"I am not less grateful," Miss Furley said, advancing also. "I shall never forget that dreadful moment, and the feeling which darted through my mind, as you rushed past us and threw yourself upon him, and I felt that I was saved almost by a miracle."

"And you must accept my thanks also," Mrs. Hudson said; "the thanks of a mother, whose child you have saved from so dreadful a death. Believe me that there is nothing that my husband or myself would not do, to show how deeply and sincerely we are grateful to you."

Mrs. Hudson, indeed, felt rather aggrieved that she could not, at once, take some active steps towards rewarding the young man for saving her daughter's life; and she had been unable to understand the scruples of her husband and daughter on the subject. It was only, indeed, at their urgent entreaty that she had given way on this point.

"I call it monstrous, Frances," she said, almost angrily. "Of course the young man will expect something more substantial than words. It is only natural that we should reward him for preserving your life, and it would be a crime if we didn't do so. Of course, he didn't do it for money at the time, but it is absurd to suppose that a young carpenter like this, working his way out on board a ship, will object to receive a handsome present for such a service as this. Our feelings have a right to be considered, as well as his; and a nice thing it will be, for people to say that Ralph Hudson and his wife were so stingy, and ungrateful, that they did nothing for the lad who had saved their daughter's life."

"There is no fear of their saying that, mother. Everyone in the colony knows that there are no more open-handed people in New South Wales than you and my father. Besides, I do not say that we are to do nothing for him. On the contrary, I agree with you that it would be wrong, indeed, if we did not. I only say, please don't let there be a word said about reward, now. Let us thank him as one would thank a gentleman, who had done us a great service."

"Of course, I will do as your father wishes, Frances, but I call it nonsense. If he were a gentleman it would, of course, be different; but he is a young carpenter and, though you won't see it, that seems to me to make all the difference."

"From what I have seen of him, mother," Frances persisted, "I am sure that he has the feelings of a gentleman; even if he is not one by birth, about which I am not certain. Anyhow, I am much obliged to you for letting me have my own way."

"You always do have your own way, Frances," her mother laughed. "You get round your father first, and then you come to me, and what can I do against the two of you?"

Reuben briefly answered Miss Furley and Mrs. Hudson; and Mr. Hudson, feeling that the lad would rather get over the scene as soon as possible, slipped his arm though his and said:

"Now, Reuben, you must just come up for a minute on the poop. The other passengers are all waiting to shake you by the hand, and they would not forgive me if I were to let you run off, as I know you are wanting to do, without a word."

Accordingly Reuben was taken up to the poop, where the passengers all shook hands with him, and congratulated him upon his courage.

"Now, I suppose I can go, sir," he said, with a smile to Mr. Hudson, when this was over.

"Yes, you can go now," Mr. Hudson laughed. "Most young fellows at your age would be glad of an opportunity for figuring as a hero, but you talk as if it was one of the most painful businesses imaginable."

"Anyhow, I am glad it's over, Mr. Hudson, I can assure you; and now, I think I will turn in again. Considering what a night I had, I feel wonderfully sleepy."

It was not until the sun was setting that Reuben appeared again on deck. Shortly after he did so, Captain Wilson strolled up to the place where he was standing.

"I wish, Reuben," he said, after a few remarks on other subjects, "that you would tell me a little more about yourself. You understand that I do not ask from mere inquisitiveness; but after what has happened, you see, we seem to have got into close relationship with each other; and if I knew more about you, I could the easier see in what way I could most really be useful to you, out there. Are you what you appear to be?"

"I am, indeed," Reuben replied, with a smile. "My history is a very simple one. My father was a miller with a good business and, up to the age of ten, it did not appear that I should ever be working as a craftsman for my living. Unhappily, at that time my father slipped, one night, into the mill pond and was drowned; and when his affairs came to be wound up, it was found that he had speculated disastrously in wheat; and that, after paying all claims, there was nothing left.

"My mother took a little village shop, and I went to the village school. At first, I think I did not work very hard; but fortunately there was a change in masters, and the new one turned out one of the best friends a boy ever had. He pushed me on greatly and, when I was apprenticed to a mill wright, he urged me to continue my education by working of an evening. I stuck to it hard, and with his help learned, therefore, a good deal more than was usual, in my station of life. My mother was always particular about my speaking and, what with that and the books, I suppose I talk better than they generally do."

"And is your mother alive?"

"Yes, sir."

"But how came you to think of emigrating, at your age; when indeed, you cannot have served out your full time?"

"That, sir," Reuben said gravely, "I cannot tell you. Some day, perhaps, if you care to know, I may bring myself to do so. I may say that it was a serious matter, but that I was really in no way to blame, whatever people may think. My conscience is absolutely clear, and yet I would rather that the story, which I left England to escape, should not be known to anyone."

"I do not seek to know further, Reuben. I think I know enough of you to be perfectly sure that you would do nothing that was wrong, and I am perfectly willing to take your word in the matter. However, I am glad that you have told me as much as you have. Your early rearing, your mother's care, and the education you have had, perfectly account for what seemed strange about you before. You have no objection, I hope, to my repeating your story to Mr. Hudson, who is as much interested in you as I am.

"And now another thing. I know that it is painful, to him, that one to whom he is so indebted should be forward here in the forecastle, instead of being in the cabin. He was afraid of hurting your feelings, by speaking to you about it; but I know that it would be a great relief and pleasure, to him and Mrs. Hudson, if you would allow them to make an arrangement with the captain that, for the remainder of the voyage, you should be a passenger."

"I am much obliged to them," Reuben said quietly; "but I could not think of accepting such an offer. I am working my way out independently, sir, and I owe no one anything. I am really enjoying the passage, and so far there has been no hardship worth speaking of. Even putting aside the fact that I should not like to accept an obligation which would, to most people, look like a payment for the service I was fortunate enough to be able to render to Mr. Hudson, I should feel out of my element. I am very comfortable, and get on very well with the men; while in the cabin I should feel strange, and out of place."

"I don't think you would seem out of place anywhere, Reuben. No one, from your manner and conversation, would judge you to be otherwise than a gentleman by birth; while there are several of the passengers, aft, whose talk and methods of expression are by no means up to the level of yours."

"I should feel uncomfortable myself," Reuben said, "even if I didn't make other people uncomfortable. So I think that, with all gratitude for the offer, I would very much rather remain as I am. Accustomed as I have been to hard work, during my apprenticeship, the life here appears to be exceedingly easy."

"Then we will say no more about it," Captain Wilson said. "It would have been a pleasure, both to me and the Hudsons, to have you aft, and I am sure you would be well received by all the passengers. However, as you think you would not be comfortable, we will let the matter drop.

"However, as to your work in the colony, we must have a say in that; and I hope that, when I thoroughly understand your wishes, we shall be able to help you forward there."

"For that I shall be extremely obliged, sir. It would be a great thing, indeed, for anyone on landing to have gentlemen ready to assist him, and push him forward. This is so at home, and is of course still more the case in a strange country. I am very anxious to get on, and am ready to work my hardest, to deserve any kindness that may be shown me."

"Well, we shall have plenty of time to think it over before we arrive.

"I fancy," Captain Wilson went on, looking upwards at the sky, "that our wonderful run of good luck, with regard to the weather, is likely to end shortly, and that we are in for a gale."

"Do you think so, sir?"

"I do, indeed; and if we do get a gale, it is likely to be a serious one. The Cape, you know, was much feared for its terrible storms by the Portuguese, and it has kept up its reputation ever since. I think it is going to give us a taste of its quality."

Chapter 8: A Gale.

"Wilson tells me he thinks we are going to have a gale, Bill."

"Ay, ay, Reuben; anyone with half an eye could see that."

"Which way is it likely to come?"

"Most likely from the north or northwest. At least that's the quarter it's likely to settle into; but there ain't no saying which way it may take us. I thought things had been going on too smooth to last. Now you are going to see what a storm is, my lad. You thought it was blowing when we went down the Channel."

"Is it likely to be much heavier than that, Bill?"

"Heavier!" the sailor repeated scornfully. "Why, there's as much difference between a capful of wind in the Channel, and a gale off the Cape, as there is between a newborn baby and me."

"Do they last long, generally?"

"Last! Why they goes on for weeks. There ain't no end to them. I've wondered sometimes to myself where all the wind comes from, and where it goes to, onlass it works round and round."

"But it does work round and round, Bill?"

"Ay, when you are near the centre of it. Why, lad, in three hours I have gone round the compass three times, with the wind dead aft all the time; but that's only when you are near the centre. When you ain't it blows straight, and I have known vessels run for days—ay, for weeks—with the wind blowing all the time in the same quarter. Some have been blown down right to the edge of the ice, south. I have been among the icebergs myself, two or three times, and I guess that many a ship has laid her bones down in the ice fields there, and no news ever come back home as to what's come to them; and what makes it worse is as we have convicts on board."

"What difference does that make, Bill?"

"It don't make no difference, as long as all goes straight and fair. I have heard, in course, of risings; but that's only when either the guard are very careless, or the men is so bad treated that they gets desperate, and is ready to die on the off chance of getting free. So far we ain't had no trouble with them. The ship is kept liberal, and the poor wretches ain't cheated out of the rations as government allows them. The officer in charge seems a good sort, and there's no knocking of them about, needless; so there ain't no fear of trouble, as long as things go square. But when things goes wrong, and a vessel gets cast away or anything of that kind, then there's well-nigh sure to be trouble. The convicts seize their opportunity, and it ain't scarce in human nature for them not to take it, and then there ain't no saying what will happen."

"Why, what a croaker you are, Bill! I didn't expect that from you."

"I ain't no croaker, Reuben, but I knows what I knows. I have been through a job like that I am telling you of, once; and I don't want to do it again. I will tell you about it, some day. I ain't saying as I expect any such thing will happen, on board the Paramatta. God forbid. She's a tight ship, and she's got as good officers and crew as ever I sailed with. She has as good a chance as ever a ship had; but when I sees that 'ere sort of sky in these latitudes, I feels as we are in for a tough job."

The conversation was broken off, abruptly, by the call of the first mate.

"All hands aloft to shorten sail!"

"The bells is ringing up for the beginning of the performance, Reuben. Here goes aloft!"

The next minute the whole of the crew were climbing the shrouds, for the watch off duty were all on deck, and the order was expected; for the signs of the weather could, by this time, be read by every sailor on board. Above, the sky was still bright and blue; but around the whole circle of the horizon, a mist seemed to hang like a curtain.

"Smartly, lads, smartly," the captain shouted; "don't hurry over your work, but do it with a will.

"I hope we have not left it too long, Mr. James. I have held on longer than I ought, for every mile we get away from land is an advantage, and we have been running nearly due south, ever since I noticed the first falling of the glass when we got up in the morning."

"I think we shall have time, sir," the mate said. "We are going to have it, and no mistake, presently; but it don't seem to be coming up fast."

"The glass is going down rapidly," the captain said. "It's down an inch already, and is still falling.

"Mr. Mason," he went on, to the officer in command of the detachment of marines, "will you kindly place your men under the orders of Mr. James? I am going to send down all the upper spars, and they can be useful on deck."

Never was the Paramatta stripped more rapidly of her sails, for every man was conscious of the urgency of the work. As soon as the sails were furled, the yards were sent down. The upper spars followed them and, in little over half an hour from the time the men began to ascend the shrouds, the Paramatta was metamorphosed. Her tall tapering masts and lofty spread of sail were gone. Every spar above the topmasts had been sent down to the deck; and she lay under close-reefed topsails, a stay sail, and a storm jib. The captain gave a sigh of relief, as the men began to descend the rigging.

"Thank God, that is safely accomplished. Now we are in readiness for whatever may come."

He dived into his cabin, and returned almost immediately.

"The glass has fallen another half inch, Mr. James," he said gravely. "I have never but once seen it as low.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he went on, addressing the passengers, who were gathered in a group, talking in low tones and anxiously watching the wall of vapour; which now seemed to rise from the water's edge and reach far up into the sky, the circle of view extending scarce half a mile in any direction; "I must ask you to go below, at once. The storm may strike us any moment now, and when it does come it will come heavily. I should like the deck perfectly clear, and nothing to disturb my thoughts from the working of the ship."

Reuben had not gone aloft, as he was called back, just as he began to ascend the shrouds, by the first mate, and ordered to go round the cabins and fasten the dead lights securely. When this was done, he aided the marines in nailing tarpaulins over the cabin skylights, and then went round the deck, seeing that every movable article was securely lashed. When this was done he joined Bill who, with some others, had been at work securing all the hatches. The convicts had long since been all sent below.

"Shall I send my men down, captain?" Mr. Mason asked.

"There is no occasion for it, just at present; but you had better pass the word for all of them to hold on, when the gale strikes her. That will be the critical moment. Once past that, she will be all right till the sea begins to rise. Then you had best get them below, for we shall have the water sweeping knee deep along the waist, in no time.

"I should say send them down at once; but I know many of them have been to sea before, and may be useful in cutting away, if anything goes."

"She looks snug enough, captain," the young officer said, glancing up at the diminished spread of canvas.

"She is snug enough for any ordinary gale," the captain said; "but this is not going to be an ordinary gale. When we once get her before it, it will be all right.

"Do you think we have another five minutes, Mr. James?"

"There's no saying, sir; but I should think so. What do you want, sir?"

"I want that top sail off her, altogether."

"I will do it, sir," the mate said and, calling Bill Hardy and two others of the best sailors, he led the way up the main shrouds.

Every eye on deck was fixed on the four seamen as, rapidly but steadily, they proceeded to furl and stow the sail. There was still not a breath of wind, but a low humming noise was heard.

"Quick, Mr. James, never mind the sail. All hands on deck!" the captain shouted; but the work was just done, and the sailors ran quickly down the ratlines on to the deck.

"Thank God!" the captain said reverently, "that is done."

The ship was now under the close-reefed fore-top sail, a diminutive try sail on the mizzen, and the jib. The hum had increased to a roar, but still not a breath of wind stirred the sails.

"Look up!" Bill said to Reuben; "you may be at sea fifty years, and never see that again."

Reuben looked up. Immediately overhead was a small circle of blue sky, round and round whose edge the edging of cloud seemed to be circling, with extreme velocity. The light seemed to pierce straight down onto the vessel, and she stood, pale and white, while all around her a pitchy blackness seemed to prevail.

"We are in the eye of the storm, my lad. Here it comes. Now, hold on for your life."

In another moment it seemed to Reuben that the end of all things was come. He was pinned against the bulwark, as if by a mighty invisible hand; and the vessel heeled over and over, until the deck seemed to rise in a wall above him. Then the water poured over him and, though he still held on, he thought the vessel had capsized. Then he felt her rising beneath his feet, and his head emerged from the water.

The captain, the first mate, and two seamen were at the wheel. Reuben saw the captain wave his hand, but his words were lost in the fury of the wind. The second mate, Bill Hardy, and two or three other sailors knew what was required, and hauled upon the lee brace of the fore-top-sail yard. The Paramatta was still lying nearly over on her beam ends, but gradually her head began to pay off, and she slowly righted. A minute later she was tearing directly before the gale. Scarcely had she done so, when the fore-top sail blew out of the bolt ropes, with a report that was heard even above the howl of the tempest.

"It's done its work," Bill shouted in Reuben's ear. "I thought she was gone. Just a little more, and she would have turned turtle."

The captain had used almost precisely the same words to the first officer, adding:

"She will do now, but we shall have to try to get a little more head sail on her, when the sea gets up. Call some of the hands aft, and get this try sail down. She yaws so, now the fore-top sail's gone, there is no steering her."

This was soon done and, under bare poles, the storm jib now the only sail upon her, the Paramatta tore through the water. There was little motion, for the sea had not begun to get up, seeming to be pressed flat by the force of the wind. The captain now left the helm. Two or three of the male passengers were standing at the top of the companion, peering out.

"You can come out, gentlemen, for a bit. She is running on an even keel now, though that won't last long. No one hurt below, I hope."

"Two or three of us have got bruised a little, captain; and I think we have all of us got a severe fright. We thought she was over."

"I thought so, too," the captain said. "Luckily she has got three hundred tons of iron on board, and it's all stowed at the bottom of the cargo, so that helped her up again; but it was touch and go with her, for half a minute.

"And now, gentlemen, if you will take my advice you will just look round, and then go below and turn in. Now you can do so easily. Another hour, and there will be no keeping a footing."

The captain was right. In less than the time he named, a terrific sea had got up. The Paramatta had already made more than one circuit of the compass. There was no regularity in the sea. It seemed to rise suddenly in heaps, now striking the ship on one side, now on another, and pouring sheets of water over her bulwarks. The motion of the vessel was so tremendous that even Bill Hardy and the older seamen could only move along with the greatest difficulty to carry out the orders of the captain; while Reuben clung to the shrouds, now half buried in water, now almost hanging in the air, with the sea racing along under his feet.

As yet no more sail had been put upon her, for there was no following sea. Although running almost before the gale, a slight helm was kept upon her, so as to edge her out from the centre of the storm; and the second circle of the compass took more than twice as long as the first to complete, although the vessel was proceeding with equal speed through the water.

Hour after hour the sea got up—a wild, cross, broken sea—and the motion of the vessel was so terrific as to be almost bewildering to the oldest hands. There was none of the regular rise and fall of an ordinary sea; the vessel was thrown with violent jerks, now on one side, now on the other; now plunging her bow so deeply down that she seemed about to dive, head foremost, beneath the waves; now thrown bodily upwards, as if tossed up by some giant hand beneath her. The watch off duty was sent below, for there was nothing that could be done on deck; and the water swept over her in such masses as to threaten, at times, to carry everything before it. One man had had his leg broken. Several had been seriously bruised and hurt.

"This is terrible, Bill," Reuben said, as he went below.

"Ay, lad; I have been at sea, man and boy, over forty years, and it's the worst sea I ever saw. I expect to see her masts go out of her, before long. Nothing could stand such straining as this. You had best turn in at once. Unless I am mistaken, it will be all hands to the pumps, before long. If she hadn't been one of the tightest crafts afloat, she would have been making water at every seam, by this time."

Reuben felt, the instant he lay down, that sleep was out of the question; for it needed all his strength to prevent himself from being thrown out of his bunk. The noise, too, was terrific—the rush and swell of the water overhead, the blows which made the ship shiver from stem to stern, the creaking of the masts, and howling of the wind. Night had set in, now. It was pitch dark in the forecastle, for the swinging lantern had been dashed so violently against the beams that the light was extinguished.

Half an hour after Reuben turned in, a crash was heard. A moment later the door was opened, and there was a shout:

"The mizzen has gone! All hands to cut away the wreck!"

The watch turned out and began to make their way aft, and were soon engaged with knife and hatchet in cutting away the wreck of the mizzen which, towing behind, threatened, with each heavy following sea, to plunge into the vessel's stern. A cheer broke from the men as the last rope was cut, and the wreck floated astern. The mast had gone close to the deck, smashing the bulwark as it fell over the side. The motion of the ship was easier, for its loss.

"Mr. James," the captain shouted, "we must get preventer stays, at once, upon the fore mast. The main mast may go, if it likes, and at present we shall be all the better without it, but the foremast we must keep, if we can."

"Ay, ay, sir. I will set about it, at once."

Picking out a few of the best hands, the first mate proceeded about the work.

"Go and sound the well, Reuben," the captain said.

Reuben went off at once, and returned in two or three minutes.

"There are four feet of water in it, sir."

"Four feet! Are you sure?" the captain exclaimed.

"Quite sure, sir."

The captain handed over the command of the deck to the second officer, and went below with Reuben. First wiping the rod carefully, he sounded the well.

"You are right," he said. "It is three inches over the four feet. I fear that the bumping of the mizzen, before we got rid of it, must have started a butt. She could hardly have made so much water from straining."

The captain made his way aft. The saloon was empty; the passengers, one by one, had retired to their cabins. He knocked at the doors of Mr. Mason and the chief warder.

"The ship is making water fast," he said. "We must rig the main-deck pumps. I can't spare any of the crew, their hands are full. Will you set the convicts to work?"

In a few minutes the clank of the pumps was heard. Very irregularly were they worked, for it was next to impossible for the men to stand to them, with the vessel throwing herself about so wildly.

The captain had remained on deck. He placed his hand on the shrouds of the main mast. One moment they hung loosely; and then, as the vessel rolled over, tightened themselves, with a sudden jerk, till they were as stiff as iron rods. He shook his head.

"Reuben, make your way up to the chief officer, and tell him that I am going to get rid of the main-top mast. Tell him to see that everything is cut free from the fore mast."

Reuben made his way aloft with difficulty. It needed all his strength to prevent the wind from tearing him from his grasp of the shrouds, but at length he reached the fore top, where the mate was at work. He delivered the captain's message.

"Ask the captain to wait five minutes, till I get the back stay secured. I will send a man down, as soon as I am ready."

"You take this axe," the captain said, when Reuben regained the deck, "and stand by this stay. When you see me ready to cut the other, cut at the same moment."

In a few minutes Bill came down, with a message to the captain that all was ready. The latter raised his arm to Reuben. He waited till the vessel rolled over, and then lifted his axe. The two blows fell together on the stays. A moment later the vessel began to rise again. As the jerk came there was a crash above, and the main-top mast fell over the side, clear of the deck, having snapped off at the cap like a pipe stem.

"Thank God for that," the captain said, as he cut away the connections on the other side, and the spar drifted astern, "that is off our minds."

The loss of the main-top mast and mizzen greatly relieved the strain on the ship, and she worked much easier. In half an hour, the first officer returned on deck with his party, and reported that he had done all he could to secure the fore mast.

"The sea is becoming more regular," the captain said, "now that we are getting further away from the centre of the storm. We shall soon have the waves racing behind us, like mountains, and we shall have to shake out the fore sail to keep ahead of them. Now, let us see how they are getting on below."

The well was again sounded, and it was found that the water had gained two or three inches.

"When the motion gets a little more regular, Reuben, you must take two or three hands, and work your way aft in the hold, and try and find out where the water is coming in."

"I will go at once, sir, if you like."

"No," the captain replied, "it must not be thought of. Everything will be adrift, and you would be crushed to death, to a certainty. You must wait till we are out of this tumble. If the water gains no faster than it does now, two or three hours will make no material difference, and by that time I hope we shall have got a regular sea."

Finding that there was nothing for him to do, Reuben again turned in. The motion was still tremendous, but he could feel a sensible change from what it was before. The motion of the ship was less sudden and violent and, although she rolled tremendously, she rose each time with an easier motion.

An hour later the watch turned out, and the others took their place. The wind was blowing as heavily as when the hurricane began, but the aspect of the sea had changed. It was no longer a mass of leaping, tumbling water; but was running in long waves, following each other, rising high above the vessel's stern as they overtook her. Having lashed himself to the side, he remained for an hour watching the sea. The first mate then came up to him.

"The captain thinks you might manage to get aft now. I will send Bill and Dick Whistler with you, to help you move any boxes or bales."

Reuben went back in the forecastle and got some tools, a piece of old sailcloth, and a large bundle of oakum; and then made his way with the two sailors down into the after hold. The way in which the upper tier of cargo lay heaped against the sides showed that it would, as the captain said, have been impossible to enter while the motion was at its worst. The rolling, however, had greatly diminished; the vessel rising and falling with a regular motion, as each wave passed under her. The men each carried a lantern and, with some difficulty, made their way to the stern.

"Ay, it's somewhere about here," Bill said. "I can hear the rushing of water, somewhere below. Now, the first thing is to move these bales."

They worked for a time, and then Bill returned on deck to fetch two more hands. They brought hand spikes and bars, as the bales were wedged so tightly together that it was difficult, in the extreme, to move them. It took two hours' hard work before they reached the leak. As the captain had supposed, the head of one of the planks had been started, at the stern post, by a blow from the wreck of the mizzen; and the water was rushing in with great force.

"A few hours of this would have settled her," Bill said. "All the pumps in the ship would not keep down such a leak as this."

Reuben at once set to work, cutting a deep groove in the stern post. He butted some stout pieces of wood into this, and wedged the other ends firmly against the first rib. Then he set to work to jam down sail cloth and oakum between this barrier and the plank that had started, driving it down with a marlinespike and mallet. It was a long job, but it was securely done; and at last Reuben had the satisfaction of seeing that a mere driblet of water was making its way down, behind the stuffing, into the ship.

"That's a first-rate job, lad," Bill said approvingly. "Half an hour's work once a week will keep her dry, if there is no water finds its way in anywhere else."

Reuben went aft to the well. The pump was now working steadily, the gangs of convicts relieving each other by turns. On sounding the well, he found that the water had fallen nine inches since he had last ascertained its depth. Going on deck, he found that a misty light filled the air, and that morning was breaking.

The captain had two or three times come down to the hold, to watch the progress of the work. Reuben reported to him its completion, and the fall in the water.

"Yes, it's been falling the last hour," the captain said. "She will do now. But she's making water, still. Some of the seams must have opened. I have been looking her over, and can't find out where it is; and we can do nothing until the gale has blown itself out, and we can get below and shift the cargo."

Reuben found that the fore sail had been set while he was below; and the vessel was running, some twelve knots an hour, before the wind. At one moment she was in a deep valley, then her stern mounted high on a following wave, and she seemed as if she must slide down, head foremost. Higher and higher the wave rose, sending her forward with accelerated motion; then it passed along her, and she was on a level keel on its top, and seemed to stand almost still as the wave passed from under her.

In spite of the extra lashing which had been given, the hen coops, spars, and everything loose upon the decks had been swept away; and the bulwarks had, in several places, been stove in. The galley had been carried away, but the cook had just made a shift to boil a cauldron of coffee below, and a mug of this was served out to all hands. As Reuben broke a biscuit into his portion, and sipped it, he thought he had never enjoyed a meal so much. He had now been, for eighteen hours, wet through to the skin; and the coffee sent a warm glow through him.

The captain ordered all hands, save a few absolutely required on deck, to turn in; and Reuben was soon in a glow of warmth beneath his blankets and, lulled by the now easy motion of the ship, was fast asleep in a few minutes.

After four hours' sleep, he was again on deck. The gale was blowing as strongly as ever, three men were at the helm, and the vessel was still tearing along at great speed. Several of the male passengers were on the poop, and the contrast between the appearance of the Paramatta at the same hour on the previous day, and that which she presented now, struck Reuben very strongly. Sadly, indeed, she looked with mizzen mast gone, the main mast shortened to the cap, and all the upper spars and rigging of the fore mast gone. She was, however, making good weather of it, for her hold was now so dry that the pumps were worked only on alternate hours, and the relief afforded by the loss of all her top hamper was very great.

For a week the Paramatta ran before the gale. At the end of the fourth day its force somewhat abated, but it still blew much too hard for anything to be done towards getting up fresh spars; while the lost mizzen rendered it impossible for them to bring her up into the wind.

"It's bitterly cold, Bill," Reuben said. "Its been getting colder every day, but this morning it is really bitter."

"And no wonder, lad, seeing that we have been racing south for pretty nigh a week. We have been making a little easting, but that is all, and we are getting into the region of ice. We may see some bergs any time now."

"I should like to see an iceberg," Reuben said.

"The fewer we see of them the better," Bill replied, "for they are about as nasty customers as you want to meet. I expected we should have seen them before, but this gale must have blown them south a bit. They work up with the northwesterly current, but I expect the wind will have carried them back against it. No, I don't want to see no icebergs."

"But if it were a very big one, we might get under its lee and repair damages a bit, Bill. Might we not?"

"No, my lad. The lee of an iceberg ain't a place one would choose, if one could help it. There you are becalmed under it, and the berg drifting down upon you, going perhaps four knots an hour. No, the farther you keep away from icebergs the better. But if you have got to be near one, keep to windward of it. At least, that's my 'speryence.

"They have been having some trouble with the convicts, I hears. They worked well enough at first, as long as they knew that there was a lot of water in the hold; but since then they have been a-grumbling, and last night I hear there was a rumpus, and six of them was put in irons. That's the first of it, and the sooner the gale's over, and we shapes our course in smooth water for Sydney heads, the better I shall be pleased."

An hour later, Bill pointed to the sky ahead.

"Do yer see nothing odd about that 'ere sky?"

"No," Reuben replied, "except that it's very light coloured."

"Ay, that's it, my lad. That's what they call the ice blink. You see if we ain't in the middle of bergs before night comes on. I have not been whaling for nothing."

A few minutes later, the first mate was heard to be shouting orders.

"Just as I thought," Bill said. "We are going to try to rig a jury mizzen, so as to help us claw off the ice, if need be."

A spare top mast was got up from below. Guys were fixed to one end and, with the help of the marines and a party of convicts, the spar was raised alongside the stump of the mizzen mast; and was there lashed securely, the guys being fastened as stays to the bulwarks. Blocks had been tied to the top, before it was raised; and ropes rove into them; and a try sail was brought on deck, and laid ready for hoisting.

The first mate ascended to the fore top, and at once hailed the deck that ice was visible ahead. The captain joined him, and for some minutes the two officers carefully examined the horizon. No sooner did the captain regain the deck than he ordered the try sail to be hoisted on the jury mast, and a haul to be given upon the braces of the fore sail, while the ship's course was laid a little north of east.

"It is lucky the wind has gone down as much as it has," he remarked to Mr. Hudson. "The sea is still heavy but, if that jury mizzen stands, we shall be able to claw off the ice."

"Is there much of it, captain?"

"We could see a good many bergs and, from the look of the sky, I should say there was an ice field lying beyond them. However, I think we shall do, if the wind does not freshen again. If it does, we must do our best to make a group of islands lying down to the southeast, and there refit. They are a rendezvous for whalers, in summer."

"Why not do so now, captain?"

"I would, if it were not for the convicts. But, unless as a last resource, I would not run the risk of touching at any island with them on board. As long as we are at sea they are comparatively harmless and, unless there is gross carelessness on the part of their guard, there is little fear of an outbreak. But once let them get on land, the matter is changed altogether. They are nearly three to one as against the warders, marines, and crew; and I would not run the risk, on any account, if it can be possibly avoided. No, no, Mr. Hudson, unless it be a matter of life and death, we will put in nowhere till we are in Sydney harbour."

Chapter 9: Two Offers.

At nightfall the Paramatta was in the midst of the icebergs, and Reuben soon understood the antipathy which Bill had expressed for them. As a spectacle, they were no doubt grand; but as neighbours to a half-crippled ship, with half a gale blowing, their beauty was a very secondary consideration to those on board.

Additional stays were fixed to the jury mast, as it might be necessary, at any moment, to attempt to bring her up into the wind; and the word was passed that both watches must remain on deck. Fortunately the night was a light one, for the moon was up, and the sky almost cloudless. The mate stood with two of the best hands at the wheel; while the second mate took his place in the fore top, with a lantern, to signal the position of ice ahead. Fortunately there were but few small floating blocks about, and the Paramatta threaded her way through the larger bergs, without once approaching near enough to render danger imminent. It was a long and anxious night but, when morning broke, it was seen that the sea was now open ahead, and by the afternoon they had left the last berg behind.

Two days later the wind went completely down, and the crew at once set to work to repair damages. Reuben, with two men under him, filled up the breaches in the bulwarks. A respectable jury mast was rigged by the stump of the main mast; and the spar, which had done such good service among the bergs, was replaced by a longer and heavier one. All hands worked vigorously, and the sailors were assisted in the heavier work by parties of convicts.

After two days' toil all was completed. Sail was hoisted again and, under a greatly reduced spread of canvas to that which she had carried before the gale burst, the Paramatta proceeded on her way. The weather continued favourable and, without further adventure, the Paramatta arrived off Sydney heads; having made the voyage in a hundred and three days, which was, under the circumstances, a quick one.

The last evening Captain Wilson asked Reuben to go with him to the poop, as he and Mr. Hudson wanted to have a chat with him.

"Now, Reuben," Mr. Hudson said, "sit yourself down here. We must have a talk together. Now we want to know exactly what you are thinking of doing."

"I am thinking of getting work, sir," Reuben said, "at my own trade."

"Well, my lad, I don't think you will make much at that. There are mills, of course, but not a great many of them; and I fancy you would find it difficult to get anything like regular work. The distances here are tremendous, and you would spend the money you made, in one job, in looking out for another.

"That is the first view of the case. The second is, that neither Captain Wilson nor I mean to let you try it. You have saved my daughter's life, and I am not going to let the man who did that tramp about the country, looking for a day's work. Captain Wilson is going to marry my girl shortly, and of course he feels just the same about it. So the next question is, 'What is the best thing we can do for you?' Now, if you have a fancy for squatting, you can come with me up country and learn the business; and this day, twelve-month, I will hand you over the deeds of a range, with five thousand sheep upon it. Now, that's my offer.

"Now, don't you be in a hurry to refuse it, and don't let me have any nonsense about your not liking to accept it. Ten such farms would not pay the debt I owe you, and I tell you I should think it downright mean, if you were to refuse to let me pay you a part of my debt. Now you shall hear Wilson's proposal."

"My offer is not so brilliant, Reuben. Indeed, as far as making money, the pay would probably be no higher, at first, than you might earn at your trade. I am, as you know, assistant superintendent to the constabulary force of the colony. Now, if you like, I will obtain you a commission as an inspector. The pay is not high, but by good conduct you may rise to a position such as I hold. It is the position of a gentleman, and the life is full of excitement and adventure. Now, what do you say?"

Reuben was silent for a minute or two.

"I am greatly obliged to you both," he said, "more obliged than I can tell you. Your offer, Mr. Hudson, is a most generous one; but I have not been accustomed to farming, and I would rather have such a life as that which Captain Wilson offers me, although the pay may be very much smaller.

"But, sir," he said, turning to the officer of constabulary, "I fear that I cannot accept your offer, because, in the first place, you see, I am not a gentleman."

"Oh, nonsense, Reuben! Your manners and language would pass you as a gentleman, anywhere. Besides which, there are several officers in the force who have risen from the ranks, and who have had nothing like the education you have had. You can put that aside at once. Is there any other reason?"

"Yes, sir," Reuben said quietly. "I had never intended to have spoken of it, and I came out to Australia in order that I might be away from everyone who knew the story, but I couldn't accept your offer without your knowing it. I am leaving England because I have been tried for burglary."

"Nonsense!" both Reuben's listeners exclaimed, incredulously.

"If you don't mind, I will tell you the whole story," Reuben said, "and then you can judge for yourselves."

Reuben then related at length the whole circumstances, with which the reader is already acquainted.

"I remember reading your story in the papers, Reuben," Captain Wilson said. "Being in the force, you know, I take an interest in these things. I own I was puzzled at the time—because, you see, I did not know you—but how anyone who did know you, could think you guilty, passes my comprehension."

"I call it infamous," Mr. Hudson added warmly. "They must be a pack of fools, down at that place Lewes."

"Well," Captain Wilson said, "I am glad you have told me your story; for I have all along been puzzled as to what made you give up your trade, and emigrate, at your age. However, the matter is explained now; but now you have told me, I see no reason whatever why you should not accept my offer. In the first place, no one but ourselves will know your history. In the next, if they did so, that is no reason why you should not hold the appointment. No man is free from the risk of being suspected unjustly. You have been acquitted by a jury of your countrymen and, even did everyone know it, no one dare throw it in your teeth.

"No, I repeat, if you like I have no doubt that I can obtain for you an appointment as officer in the constabulary. You need not give me an answer now. Think it over for a week. You will have plenty of time, for Mr. Hudson insists upon your taking up your abode with him, when you land."

"That I do," Mr. Hudson said. "I have a place a mile out of Sydney, and there you will stop for a bit. Then I hope you will go up the country with me, for a month or two, and learn the ways of the place; till Captain Wilson has got an appointment for you—that is, if you quite decide to accept his offer, instead of mine. But remember, if ever you get tired of thief hunting, the offer will still be open to you."

Sydney was at that time but a very small place; for the great wave of emigrants had not yet begun to flow, and the colony was in its early infancy. As soon as the vessel cast anchor, Mr. Hudson and his party landed, taking Reuben with them; and an hour later he found himself installed, as a guest, at the squatter's house.

It was large and comfortable, surrounded by a broad verandah, and standing in a garden blooming with flowers, many of which were wholly unknown to Reuben. He had, of course, before landing laid aside the suit he had worn on board ship, and had dressed himself in his best; and the heartiness and cordiality of his host, his wife, and daughter soon made him feel perfectly at his ease.

"We are in the rough, you know," Mr. Hudson said to him. "Everyone is in the rough here, at present. Twenty years hence things may settle down, but now we all have to take them as we find them. The chief difficulty is servants. You see, almost every other man here is either a convict, an ex-convict, or a runaway sailor; about as bad material as you could want to see, for the formation of what they call at home a genteel establishment. The number of emigrants who come out is small. For the most part they have a little money and take up land, or at any rate, go up country and look for work there. A few, of course, who have been sent out by their friends at home to get rid of them, loaf about Sydney and spend their money, till they are driven to take the first job that offers. Well, they may do for shepherds, in places where no drink is to be had for love or money, but you would scarcely care about having them as butlers; so you see, we are driven to the three classes I spoke of. I have been exceptionally lucky. The man who carried the things upstairs just now, and who is my chief man here, is an ex-convict."

Reuben looked surprised.

"He was assigned to me when he first got his ticket of leave. I found him a good hand, and he stood by me pluckily, when my station was attacked by the blacks. So next time I came down to the town, I asked what he had been sent out here for. I found it was for having been concerned in a poaching fray, in which some of the game keepers got badly hurt. Well, that wasn't so much against him, you know, so I got talking to him one day, and found out that he came from my part of England. I found he had a wife, so I sent home money to some friends, and asked them to send her out; which they did and, finding she had, before she married him, been cook in a gentleman's family, I engaged her here, and sent up the country for Watson to come down. I had told him nothing about it; for I thought, perhaps, his wife might refuse to come out, or might have married again, or anything else.

"Well, the meeting was a happy one, as you may suppose; and I then settled him down here—at least, it wasn't here, but a smaller place I had then—and he has been with me ever since. His time was out some years ago, but that has made no difference. Nothing would induce him to leave me; and I would not part with him for any amount, for a more faithful and trusty fellow never lived, and when I go away I know everything will go along like clockwork. As for his wife, she's a treasure, and she knows how to cook a dinner, as you will acknowledge presently.

"They form the mainstay of my establishment. Besides that, there's an old chap who looks after the garden, goes down to the town, and does odd jobs. He was a sailor. He was landed here when his vessel came into port, five years ago. He had fallen off the yard on to the deck, and had broken half his ribs. He was taken to the government hospital. They did not think, at first, that he would ever get over it; but though he pulled through, it was clear he would never be fit for any hard work. So the surgeon of the hospital spoke of the case to me, and I said I thought I could find a job that would suit him, and here he has been. He is quite strong enough for all the work I want him to do, and I can trust him about the place. Of course, he breaks out and gets drunk occasionally, but one cannot expect to find a man perfect.

"Then there is a black boy—they call them all boys here—he looks after the horses, and has two black boys—they are boys—under him. I found him out on the plains. He had been shot by some bush-ranging scoundrels, out of pure mischief, I should say. He was insensible when I found him, but I saw that he was alive, and managed to get him up on my horse and took him home. We were six weeks getting him round, for the bullet had gone through his body. It would have killed a white man in an hour, but these black fellows are as hard as nails.

"My wife nursed him, for she was living up the country with me at that time; and when he got well, he declared that he would never leave us. I don't know that I was much gratified at the news, at first; but I soon found out that Sam, as I called him, was a valuable fellow about a place. He could turn his hand to everything, but I found he was specially happy when he was engaged about the horses; so at last I handed over that department to him, and when we set up this place here, I brought him down with me and made him head of the stables. It's fifteen years since I first picked him up, and I don't think I have ever had cause to find fault with him, since.

"So you see, though my establishment can't be called a genteel, it's a thoroughly good-working one, and I doubt if there's a man in the colony who is as well off as I am.

"When we go up country they all go with me except the sailor, who remains in charge. He's a great man, I can tell you, when he's left in what he calls command of the ship. He's got hold of two old muskets and a brace of pistols, and these he always loads before we start, so as to be ready to repel boarders. He looks out sharply, too, for I have never lost a thing since he came; and when you consider what a number of gentry there are, about here, with experience in housebreaking, I think that's pretty well. He is always drunk and incapable, for three or four days after our return, as a reward to himself for having kept from drink all the time we are away."

"Dinner is ready," Frances Hudson said, running into the room. "Here you are, papa, talking away as usual, whenever you get the chance. Now run upstairs quickly, both of you; for Rachel will not be pleased if you let the first dinner get cold, after she has been doing her best to turn out something special, in honour of the occasion, ever since she heard the Paramatta was in port."

"I won't be a minute, Frances.

"Ah, here comes Wilson. I was wondering what had become of him. He promised to come on, as soon as he had seen his chief."

The dinner was an excellent one, and fully bore out Mr. Hudson's assertion with respect to his cook. All were in high spirits, with the exception of Mrs. Hudson, who was cool in her manners to the young officer, and was evidently desirous of showing her disapproval of his engagement to her daughter, which had only taken place two days before.

"I have news for you, Reuben," Captain Wilson said, in the first pause of conversation. "I saw the chief, and told him I wanted an appointment for a young friend of mine, who had come out in the Paramatta, and who had shown great pluck and presence of mind in an affair at the Cape, which I described to him. He said that he could appoint you at once, as young Houghton, a district superintendent, was killed three weeks ago, in an affair with the bush rangers up country. He said he was very glad to hear of someone likely to make a good officer, to fill his place. So if you make up your mind to be a constable, the place is ready for you."

"Thank you very much, sir," Reuben said, "I was thinking the matter over last night, and quite made up my mind to accept the place you were kind enough to offer me, if you think me fit to fill it."

"I have no fear on that score, Reuben. I am sure you will do credit to my recommendation. So then, we may consider that as settled."

"There," grumbled Mr. Hudson, "that's just like you, Wilson; you upset all my plans. It was arranged he was to come up to my station, and there, before you are on shore two hours, you arrange the whole business; and I suppose you will be wanting him to get into his uniform, and be off before a week's out."

"I daresay we can manage a fortnight," Captain Wilson laughed, "and I have no doubt he will have plenty of opportunities for visiting you, later on. Indeed, I don't know why he should not be able to look you up, as soon as you get there. He will, of course, be placed under an old hand for six months, to learn his duties and get to speak a little of the native lingo.

"Hartwell, who has your district, is as good a man as he can be put with. He is a careful officer, though perhaps a little slow; but he will be a good man for Reuben to serve under, and I know the chief will put him with him if I ask him, as it can't make any difference where he goes first."

"Well, if you can arrange that, Wilson, I will forgive you. And now, where are you going to?"

"For the time, I am not going anywhere in particular," Captain Wilson replied. "The chief says he thinks that things have got rather slack, since I have been away. There are several bands of bush rangers, who have been doing a deal of mischief up country; so to begin with, he wishes me to make a tour of inspection, and to report generally. After that, I think I shall be settled here for a time. At any rate, it will be my headquarters. I think it probable the chief himself will be going home on leave, before very long."

"The sooner you are settled here, the better," Mr. Hudson said; "for I know I shall get no peace, now, till Frances is settled, too. Ever since she was a child, when she once made up her mind that she wanted a new toy, she worried me till I got it for her; and you are the last new toy."

"Oh, papa, how can you say so!" Frances said, laughing and colouring. "As far as I am concerned, it may be months and months."

"Oh, that is all very well," Mr. Hudson broke in. "I know what you want. You want Wilson here to be always, neglecting his duty, and galloping over from the other end of the colony to see you. No, no, my dear, if Wilson is a wise fellow, he will bring you to book, as soon as I can either build, or get hold of, a place fit for you. We shall be having no peace, now. Every time he is off on duty, you will be picturing him as engaged in some dreadful struggle with bush rangers and blacks; and if letters don't come as often as you expect them, you will be fretting yourself into a fever."

"What nonsense, papa! I know, of course, George will have to do his duty. I don't suppose he's always going to be tied to my apron string."

"You take my advice, Reuben," Mr. Hudson said, "don't you go and lose your heart; for if you once do, there's a police officer spoiled. It don't so much matter with Wilson, because he has done his share of dangerous work, and is pretty well up at the top of the tree; but a man that has to tackle bush rangers and blacks, ought not to have a woman at home thinking of him."

"There is no fear of that, for a good many years to come," Reuben laughed. "Are these blacks really formidable fellows, Captain Wilson?"

"Formidable to the settlers," Captain Wilson said, "but not to us. They drive off cattle and sheep, and sometimes attack solitary stations, and murder every soul there; but they seldom stand up in fair fight, when we come down upon them; but they fight hard, sometimes, when they are acting with bush rangers."

"Bush rangers are mostly escaped convicts, are they not?"

"Almost always," Captain Wilson replied, "except that, of course, they have among them a few men such as runaway sailors, and ne'er-do-wells who get sick of shepherding and take to the bush; but the great proportion are convicts. It is not to be wondered at, when you look at the life many of these men have led at home, and the monotony and hardship of their lives in many of the up-country stations, allotted to men as ignorant, and sometimes almost as brutal as themselves.

"Some of them, too, escape from the road gangs, and these are generally the worst; for as often as not, they may have killed a warder in making their escape, and know that it will go hard with them if they are caught.

"It may be said that there are two sorts of bush rangers. The one are men who have taken to the bush, simply from a desire of regaining their liberty. Sometimes they join parties of blacks, and live with them. Sometimes two or three get together, and all the harm they do is to carry off an occasional sheep, for food. And the other kind are desperadoes—men who were a scourge in England, and are a scourge here, who attack lonely stations, and are not content with robbing, but murder those who fall into their hands.

"They are in fact wild beasts, to whom no mercy is to be extended; and who, knowing it, will fight to the last. They are not easy to hunt down, their instinct having made them wary; and being generally in league with the blacks, who are as cunning as foxes, and can run pretty nearly as fast as a horse can gallop, they are kept very well informed as to our movements and, the country being so immense, we should never run them down, were it not for our native trackers.

"These fellows are to the full as sharp as the Red Indians of North America. They seem, in fact, to have the instinct of dogs, and can follow a track when the keenest white's eye cannot detect the smallest trace of a footprint. It is something marvellous what some of them will do."

"Have you many of these trackers in your employment?"

"There are one or two attached to every up-country station. They are, in fact, our bloodhounds; and although some of our men pick up a little of their craft, we should do nothing without them."

The next morning, Reuben met Captain Wilson down in Sydney, and was taken by him to the chief of the constabulary, who at once made out his appointment. On his return, Mr. Hudson again started with him for the town, and insisted upon ordering his equipment. As Reuben saw that he would be hurt by any shadow of denial, he accepted Mr. Hudson's kind offer; although he had intended to ask Captain Wilson to make an advance of pay, in order that he might get what was necessary. He could not, however, have purchased such an outfit as Mr. Hudson insisted on getting for him; the latter ordering not only uniforms but suits of plain clothes, together with saddlery, holsters, a sword, and a brace of excellent double-barrelled pistols. He did not need to buy a horse, having in his stables one in every way suitable, being at once quiet and fast—it was, indeed, one of the most valuable animals in the colony.

"You will have to keep your eyes open, Reuben," he said, as he gave him the horse, "or he will be stolen from you. These bush ranger fellows are always well mounted, and anyone at an up-country station, who has an animal at all out of the ordinary way, has to keep his stable door locked and sleep with one eye open; and even then, the chances are strongly in favour of his losing his horse, before long. These fellows know that their lives often depend upon the speed of their horse and, naturally, spare no pains to get hold of a good one.

"Ah, I have a good idea.

"Jim," he shouted to one of the black boys, "come here."

The lad, who was about eighteen years of age, trotted up.

"Jim, this gentleman is going to be a police officer, and he's going to take the bay with him; now he wants a good servant. Will you go with him?"

The lad looked longingly at the horse, which he had groomed and was very fond of; but he shook his head.

"I no leave Massa Hudson."

"Yes, but I wish you to go, Jim. This gentleman is a great friend of mine, and when bad black man attacked young Missy, he saved her life. So I want him to be taken good care of; and the horse, too, and to see no one steals it. So someone I can trust must go with him. If you don't like him for a master, after you have tried him, Jim, you can come back to me again. You have been a good boy, and I have no wish to get rid of you; but this gentleman don't know the ways of the country, and I want to be sure he has someone with him he can trust."

The lad looked at Reuben gravely, with his small eyes deeply sunken under the projecting eyebrows.

"Jim will go," he said. "He look after white man and Tartar, to please Massa Hudson and young Missy."

"That's right, Jim," his employer said.

"That's a good stroke of business," he went on, as he turned away with Reuben; "if you treat these black fellows well, and they get attached to you, they are faithful to death."

"You will see that fellow will never let your horse out of his sight. If you ride twenty miles across country, there he will be by your side as you dismount, ready to take it, and looking as fresh as paint. At night he will sleep in the stable, and will be ready, at all times and places, to make a fire, and cook a damper or a bit of meat, if you are lucky enough to have one by you. All the people about the place would do anything, I believe, for Frances; and the fact that you have saved her life will bind this boy to you, at first. Afterwards he will get to care for you, for yourself."

A fortnight later Reuben, in his uniform as an officer of the constabulary, rode out of Sydney. His baggage had been sent on, three days before, by a waggon returning up country. Jim trotted, with an easy stride, behind him. Reuben at first was inclined to ride slowly, in order to give his attendant time to keep up with him; but he soon found that, whatever pace he went, the lad kept the same distance behind, without any apparent exertion; and he was, therefore, able to choose his own pace, without reference to Jim's comfort.

Four years passed. Reuben Whitney gave every satisfaction to his superiors, and was considered a zealous and effective young officer. So far he had not been placed in a position of great responsibility; for although for the last two years he had been in charge of a district, it was not far from Sydney, and his duties consisted principally in hunting for convicts who had made their escape, in looking after refractory ticket-of-leave men, and in ordinary constabulary work. He had learned in that time to become a first-rate rider, and a good shot with a pistol, accomplishments which would be of vital service when he was ordered to an up-country station. For his pistols he had as yet, however, had no actual use, as neither bush rangers nor natives penetrated so far into the settlement.

At the end of the four years' service, he received a letter from Captain Wilson, who had just succeeded to the chief command of the constabulary, ordering him to hand over charge of the district to the young officer who was the bearer of the letter, and to report himself at headquarters.

Reuben was now nearly three-and-twenty, and had grown into a very powerful young man. A life spent for the most part on horseback had hardened his muscles, and filled out his frame. He stood about five feet nine, but looked shorter, owing to his great width of shoulders. He was still quiet in manner, but he had the same bright and pleasant expression which had characterized him as a boy; and his visits to Sydney, where he was introduced by Captain Wilson and Mr. Hudson into the best society, had given him ease and self possession.

The native, Jim, was still with him. He had become greatly attached to his master, and his fidelity and devotion had been of the greatest service to him and, go where he would, the black was always at his heels.

On his presenting himself at Sydney, Captain Wilson said, after the first greetings:

"I know you have been a little disappointed, Reuben, because hitherto you have been at stations where you have had but little opportunity of distinguishing yourself. However, I thought better to keep you at quiet work, until you were thoroughly master of your duties; and had, moreover, got your full strength. I don't know whether you have quite arrived at that yet, but I think you will do, anyhow," and he smiled as he looked at Reuben's shoulders.

"I think I am as strong as most of them," Reuben said, smiling too. "Four years' mill-wright's work, and four years on horseback in this bracing air, ought to make one strong, if there's anything in one to begin with. I think I shall do, in that respect."

"I think so, Reuben. I don't think there are many men in the force who could hold their own with you, in a grapple.

"And now to business. You have heard of that affair of Inspector Thomas, in the Goora district—it was a bad business. He and two of his men were out, after some natives who had driven off cattle; and he was set upon by a party of bush rangers, and he and his men killed."

"So I heard, sir," Reuben said quietly.

"Well, I have decided in sending you up in his place. It is a bad district—the worst we have, at present—and it needs a man of great resolution, and intelligence. I am sure that you have plenty of both, and that I cannot make a better choice than in sending you there. Your age is the only thing against you—not with me, you know, but others may think that I have done wrong, in selecting so young an officer—but you see, I know my man. I know, too, that several of the inspectors are getting too old for this sort of work. I do not mean too old, perhaps, in point of years, but they are married men with families, and for desperate work I prefer men without encumbrances.

"The post should be held by an inspector, but I cannot promote you, at present. It would be putting you over the heads of too many. But you will have a good chance of earning early promotion, and I know that is what you like."

"Thank you very much, Captain Wilson. I will do my best to show myself worthy of your confidence."

"You will have all your work cut out for you, Reuben. The district has, all along, been a most troublesome one. The number of settlers, at present, is small. There is a good deal of higher bush than usual about it, which makes it very difficult to run these fellows down; and the natives are specially troublesome. Besides which, at present there are two or three of the worst gangs of bush rangers in the colony, somewhere in that country. You will have to be cautious as well as bold, Reuben. It is a dangerous service I am sending you on; still, the more danger, the more credit to you."

"You could not have given me a station I should have liked better; and I hope, ere long, I may be able to give you a good account of the bush rangers."

"And now, Reuben, if you will call again in an hour, I shall be free, and then I will drive you home. You need not start for a day or two; and you will, of course, stay with me till you do."

Chapter 10: An Up-Country District.

Mrs. Wilson received Reuben, as usual, with the greatest cordiality; but she exclaimed loudly, when she heard that he was going to the Goora district.

"You don't mean it, George. You can't mean that you are going to send Reuben to that dreadful place. Why, we are always hearing of murders and robberies there; and you know the last inspector was killed; and the one before recalled, because you said he had lost his nerve; and now you are sending Reuben there!"

"But I look upon it as the greatest honour, Mrs. Wilson, being chosen for such a station; and you see, there will be capital chances of distinguishing myself, and getting promoted."

"And capital chances of being killed," Mrs. Wilson said, in a vexed tone. "I do call it too bad, George."

"But, my dear, we want a man of pluck and energy. Besides, you know, we have been getting into hot water over that district. The press have been saying very severe things, about our incompetence to protect the outlying settlements, and I was obliged to choose a man who will give satisfaction; and you will agree with me that Reuben will do that."

"Of course he will," Mrs. Wilson agreed. "I shouldn't be alive now, if he hadn't had plenty of pluck and energy; but for that very reason, you ought not to send him to such a dangerous post."

"But I wish to give him an opportunity for distinguishing himself. He wants to get on, and I want to push him on; but you see, I can't promote him over the heads of some eight or ten men, senior to him, unless he does something a little out of the way."

"Well, I don't like it, George, I tell you frankly. I always thought he was wrong, to go into the constabulary at all, instead of accepting papa's offer. I can't think why you men are so fond of fighting, when you could choose a quiet and comfortable life."

"But it is not always so quiet and comfortable, Frances, as a good many have found, in the district he is going to; and after all, it is less dangerous fighting bush rangers and natives when you are prepared for it, than to be woke up of a night with a band of them thundering at your door, and with no assistance within twenty miles."

As Frances Wilson remembered how, in her childish days, her father's place had been, for three days, beset with blacks, she had no answer ready for the argument.

"Well, I do hope, Reuben," she said, "if you do go to this horrid place, you will take care of yourself, and not be rash."

"He's going to take care of others, Frances. You know, if he had taken care of himself and hadn't been rash, you would not have come so well out of that Malay business. I am sure he looks as if he could take care of himself, doesn't he?"

"Yes, he is big enough and strong enough," Mrs. Wilson agreed, "but that's no good against spears or boomerangs, to say nothing of rifles and pistols."

"Why, Frances, you are not generally a croaker," her husband said lightly, "but for once, you seem to be determined to do your best to frighten Reuben, before he starts."

Mrs. Wilson laughed.

"No, I don't want to frighten him, George. I only want to make him careful."

"I will be as careful as I can, Mrs. Wilson. That boy Jim is a treasure. I will warrant, if there are any black fellows about, he will sniff them out somehow. That fellow has a nose like a hound. He has always been most useful to me, but he will be invaluable at Goora."

Two days afterwards, Reuben left for his new command. It took him eight days to reach it. His headquarters were at Goora, a settlement of some twenty houses; besides the barracks in which the constabulary force, consisting of a sergeant, eighteen constables, and two native trackers, were quartered. The sergeant, a north-country Irishman named O'Connor, was somewhat surprised when Reuben rode up to the station; for the officers previously in command had been much older men.

Reuben's own quarters were in a cottage, close to the main building, and he asked the sergeant to come, in the evening.

"Now, sergeant," he said, after a little preliminary talk, "I have been sent up by Captain Wilson, with instructions to root out these bands of bush rangers."

The sergeant smiled grimly.

"We have been doing our best for the last three years, sir, but we have not made much of a hand at it."

"No," Reuben agreed, "and I don't suppose, of course, that I am going to succeed all at once. In the first place, tell me frankly, what sort of men have we got?"

"The men are good enough, sir, but they have certainly got disheartened, lately. One way and another, we have lost something like ten men in the last two years; and of course, that last affair with poor Mr. Thomas was a bad one."

"I understand," Reuben said quietly, "some of them are not quite so eager to meet the bush rangers as they used to be."

"Well, that is perhaps about it, sir; but I must say the men have been tremendously hardly worked—pretty nigh night and day in the saddle, often called out by false news to one end of the district; and then to find, when they return, that those scoundrels have been down playing their games at some station at the other end. It's enough to dishearten a man."

"So it is, sergeant. I was speaking to Captain Wilson about it, and saying that if we are to succeed we ought to have some fresh hands, who will take up the work with new spirit. We are seven below our force, at present; and he has promised to send me up fifteen new hands, so there will be eight to be relieved. I will leave it to you to pick out the men to go. Mind, put it to them that they are to be relieved simply because Captain Wilson thinks they have had their share of hard work, and should therefore be sent to a quiet station, for a time. Just pick out the men whom you think would be most pleased to go."

"Very well, sir. I am glad to hear the news, for to tell you the truth, I do think we want a little fresh blood amongst us."

Three days later the new detachment arrived, and Reuben saw, at once, that Captain Wilson had chosen a picked set of young men. About half of them were freshly enlisted in the force. The others had all been employed at up-country stations, and were well acquainted with the nature of the work before them. The same afternoon, the eight men picked out by Sergeant O'Connor as being the least useful on the station started for Sydney, most of them well pleased at being relieved from their arduous duties.

Reuben found that there were, in the office, a great many letters from settlers, asking for protection. It was impossible to comply with all these but, after consultation with O'Connor, he sent five parties, of three men each, to as many exposed stations; keeping ten in hand, to move as required.

Taking Jim, and two of the constables who had been longest on the station, he spent two months in traversing his district, from end to end, and making himself thoroughly acquainted with its geographical features; for he felt that, until he had mastered these, he should only be working in the dark. For a time the outrages had ceased, the bush rangers having shifted their quarters, and the natives withdrawn after the murder of the late inspector. This was a great relief to Reuben, as it permitted him to gain an insight into the country before setting to work in earnest.

Upon his tour, he and his followers were everywhere most hospitably received at the stations at which they halted. Everywhere he heard the same tale of sheep killed, cattle and horses driven off, and the insolent demeanour of the natives.

"I was thinking of giving it up, and moving back into the more populated districts," one of the settlers said to Reuben; "but now you have come, I will hold on for a bit longer, and see how it turns out. You look to me the right sort of fellow for the post; but the difficulty is, with such a large scattered district as yours, to be everywhere at once. What I have often thought of, is that it would be a good thing if the whole district were to turn out, and go right into the heart of the black country, and give them a lesson."

"From what I hear," Reuben said, "it will be next to impossible for us to find them. The country is so vast, and covered with bush, that there would be no searching it. They have no fixed villages, and the want of water would render it impossible for us to go very far. But the worst point would be that they all seem to be well informed as to what is going on. I suppose they get warnings from the native herdsmen and servants, and if we were all together to enter their country, we must leave the stations unprotected, and we should find them in ashes, on our return."

"Yes, that is true," the settler said. "I suppose it couldn't be done. But it's anxious work sleeping here, night after night, with one's rifle by one's bedside, never certain at what hour one may be woke by the yelling of the blacks. But they are not as bad as the bush rangers. If the blacks can but drive off your cattle, they are contented. You have got nothing else that is much use to them. The bush rangers don't want your cattle, beyond a head or two for present use; but they want everything else you've got, and whether you like it or not is quite immaterial to them. Thank God I have got no money in the place, and I and my three men can make a pretty good fight of it. But I pity the men with wives and daughters."

"Well, I hope we shall soon put a stop to it," Reuben said cheerfully. "We will give them a lesson if we catch them, you may be quite sure."

"I hope so," the settler said. "But you folks have been mighty unlucky, lately. Never seem to have been at the right place at the right time. Not that I am surprised at that, in such a district; but somehow they never come up with the fellows, afterwards."

"No, they seem to have had bad luck," Reuben agreed. "I hope we shall do better now."

Three days after his return from his last visit of inspection of his district, a settler rode, at full speed, up to the station.

"Captain," he said—for although Reuben had no right to that title, he was always so called by the settlers—"the blacks have been down at my place. They have killed my two shepherds, and driven off the sheep."

"Sergeant O'Connor, turn out the men at once," Reuben shouted. "See that their ammunition is all right, and let each man take a water skin and four days' provisions in his haversack.

"When was it?" he asked, turning to the settler again.

"Some time yesterday afternoon—at least, I judge so. One of the men was to have come in for supplies, and when night came and he hadn't come in, I began to be afraid something was wrong, for I knew that they were getting short. So this morning, at daybreak, I rode out with the hands I have about the house. We could see nothing of the sheep, so we rode straight to the men's hut. There, lying some twenty yards away, was the body of one of the men, riddled with spear holes. He had evidently been running to the hut for shelter, when he was overtaken. I did not stop to look for the other, for no doubt he had been killed, too."

"Well, we will do what we can for you," Reuben said. "I will be ready in five minutes."

He ran into the house, buckled on his sword, put some cold meat and a small bag of flour into his haversack, together with some dampers Jim had just cooked, and then went out again. Jim had already brought his horse round to the door. Before mounting he took the pistols out of the holsters, and examined them carefully.

By this time the sergeant and ten men were in the saddle, and placing himself at their head, with the settler, whose name was Blount, he rode off at full speed; followed by his men, the two native trackers, and Jim. Reuben soon reined his horse in.

"It will not do to push them too hard, at first. There is no saying how far we shall have to go."

"Do you mean to follow them into their own country?" Mr. Blount asked.

"I do," Reuben said. "I will follow them till I catch them, if I have to go across Australia."

"That's the sort," Mr. Blount said. "I expect you will find half-a-dozen other fellows at my station, by the time you get there. I sent my hand off on horseback to the stations near, to tell them what had taken place, and that I had ridden off to you, and asking them to come round."

"How far is it?" Reuben asked.

"About forty miles."

"But your horse will never be able to do it," Reuben said.

"I got a fresh horse at a friend's, four miles from your station, so I am all right."

"They will have more than a day's start of us," Reuben remarked presently.

"Yes; thirty-six hours, for you will have to stop at my place tonight. But they can't travel very fast with sheep, you know."

"No," Reuben agreed. "If they had had cattle, it would have been useless following them; but with sheep we may come up to them, especially if they don't think they will be followed far."

"No; that's my hope. They will know I had forty miles to ride to your station. Besides, had it not been that I was expecting the shepherd in for supplies, I might not have found it out for two or three days. So I expect they will think that they are pretty safe from pursuit. They have never been followed far into the bush. It's nasty work, you see."

"It's got to be done," Reuben said. "It is impossible to keep guard everywhere, and the only way to put a stop to these outrages is to teach the blacks that punishment will follow, wherever they go."

It was late in the afternoon before they arrived at Mr. Blount's station. They found fourteen or fifteen of the neighbouring settlers gathered there. They came out as the sound of the trampling of the horses was heard. Several of them were known to Reuben, from his having stopped at their stations.

"Glad to see you, captain, but I am afraid you are too late," said Dick Caister, a young settler whose station lay about twelve miles away.

"That remains to be proved," Reuben replied, as he dismounted.

"Oh, they have got twenty-four hours' start, and it's too late to do anything tonight. They must be thirty miles away in the bush, already."

"If they were a hundred, I would follow them," Reuben said.

There was an exclamation of surprise, and something like a cheer, on the part of some of the younger men.

"The difficulties are very great," one of the elder settlers said. "There is neither food nor water to be found in the bush."

"I know it's not an easy business," Reuben said quietly. "But as to food, we can carry it with us; as to water, there must be water in places, for the natives can no more go without drinking than we can. There must be streams and water holes, here and there. But however difficult it is, I mean to attempt it. It is the only way of bringing the blacks to book; there can never be safety among the outlying settlements, unless the fellows are taught a lesson.

"And now, gentlemen, before we go further, I want to say this: I know that you are all ready to help, that you are all thirsting to wipe out old scores with the blacks; but at the same time I would point out to you that it is likely enough that the bush rangers, who certainly work with the blacks, will follow up this stroke. Therefore, it will not do to leave the stations defenceless. I do not want a large force with me. If we once overtake the blacks, I have no fear whatever of being able to give a good account of them. Therefore I would urge, upon all of you who are married men, that it is of the first importance that you should stay at home, in case the bush rangers take the opportunity of our being away to pay you a visit. That is the first thing to be thought of. If any of the others like to go with us, I shall be very glad of their assistance. We may be away for a week or more, for ought I know."

"That is certainly the best plan, captain," Dick Caister said. "As you say, let the married men stop at home and guard their stations. I think the rest of us will all go with you."

There was a chorus of approval. Eight of those present were married men and, though reluctant to give up the thought of punishing the blacks, they were yet glad that they were not called upon to leave their wives and families. With many good wishes for the success of the expedition, they at once mounted, and rode off to their respective stations, some of which were more than twenty miles away.

"Now for ways and means," Reuben said. "What spare horses have you, Mr. Blount?"

"I have only two, besides the one I am riding."

"I should like to take at least six. We must carry a good store of provisions."

"I don't think you need trouble about that," Mr. Blount said. "We must take a supply of flour with us, and of course tea and sugar; and a few bottles of rum will not be amiss. All these I can furnish. But as to meat, I do not think we need trouble. Going as fast as the blacks will travel, there are sure to be lots of the sheep fall by the way. The blacks will eat as many as they can, but even a black cannot stuff himself beyond a certain extent, and there will be plenty for us."

"Yes, I did not think of that," Reuben replied; "in that case two spare horses will be enough."

"It would be a good thing to have a few with us, though," one of the young men said. "My place is only six miles off. I will ride over and bring back three with me; they are all good ones, and I should be sorry to find they were gone when I get back. I can lead one, my black boy can ride another and lead the third. It is likely enough some of the horses may give out, or get speared if the blacks make a fight of it, and half a dozen spare horses would come in very handy."

Reuben thought the plan was a good one, whereupon two of the others also volunteered to ride over and fetch—the one three and the other two—horses.

"That will make ten altogether, with Blount's two. We shall travel all the faster, because we can ride the spare horses by turns."

The three settlers rode off at once, and returned late at night with the spare horses. They had not been idle at Mr. Blount's. A bullock had been killed and cut up, and a considerable portion cooked, so that each of the twenty men going on the expedition would start with ten pounds of cooked meat, in order to save the time that would be spent in halting to cook the carcass of any sheep they might come upon. The question of weight was immaterial, as the meat could be packed on the spare horses.

As soon as day broke, the party were in their saddles. Mr. Blount led them first to the hut near which he had found his shepherd killed. The native trackers now took up the search. The body of the other shepherd was found half a mile away. It was in a sitting position by a tree; the skull was completely smashed in by the blow of a waddy, and it was evident that a native had crept up behind him, and killed him before he was conscious that any danger was at hand. The trackers were not long in finding the place where the sheep had been collected together and driven off, and a broad track of trampled grass showed, clearly enough, the direction which had been taken.

"How many of the black fellows do you think there were?" Reuben asked one of the trackers.

"Great many black fellow, captain," he replied.

"What do you call a great many?" Reuben asked.

"Twenty, thirty, captain; can't say how many. No use, captain, look for dem, gone right away into de bush, never find them."

"I am going to try, anyhow," Reuben said. "Now, do you lead the way."

"I tink dere are more dan thirty black fellow," Jim said to Reuben, as they started; "quite a crowd of dem. Me no much like those two black fellow," and he nodded towards the trackers, who were running on ahead. "No good, those fellows."

"What makes you think that, Jim?"

"Two days ago, Jim saw dem talking wid black fellow, half a mile from the station. Not know Jim saw dem. Secret sort of talk. Why dey never find de tracks before black fellows and bush rangers always get away? Jim tink those fellows no good."

Reuben himself had often thought it singular that such continued bad luck should have attended the efforts of his predecessor to hunt down the bush rangers, but the thought that they had been put off their scent by the trackers had not occurred to him. He had the greatest faith in Jim's sagacity and, now that the idea was presented to him, it seemed plausible enough.

"Very good, Jim, you keep your eye on those fellows. I will do the same. We shall soon find out if they are up to any tricks."

Jim had been running by his master's stirrup, while this conversation had been going on; and he now dropped into his usual place at the rear of the party. For some miles the trail was followed at a hand gallop, for the grass was several inches in height, and the trail could be followed as easily as a road. The country then began to change. The ground was poorer and more arid, and clumps of low brush grew here and there. Still, there was no check in the speed. The marks made by the frightened flock were plain enough, even to the horsemen; and bits of wool, left behind on the bushes, afforded an unmistakable testimony to their passage.

"They were not going so fast, here," Mr. Blount said, after dismounting and examining. "The footprints do not go in pairs, as they did at first. The flock has broken into a trot. Ah! There is the first, ahead."

In a hundred yards they came upon the skin and head of a sheep. Nothing else remained. Unable to keep up with the flock, it had been speared, cut up, and eaten raw by the blacks. In the next mile they came upon the remains of two more; then the track widened out, and the footprints were scattered and confused. The horses were reined up, and Jim and the trackers examined the ground. Jim returned in a minute or two.

"Black fellows give em a rest here. Could no go any furder. Lie down and pant."

One of the trackers then came up.

"They stop here, captain, five six hours till moon rise. Make fire, kill sheep, and have feast."

Reuben and some of the settlers rode over to the spot to which the tracker pointed.

"Confound them!" Blount exclaimed. "Look there! There are at least twenty heads."

"So there are," Reuben said. "There must have been a lot of natives."

"Yes, there must have been a good many," the settler agreed, "but not so many, perhaps, as you would think. Nobody has ever found out, yet, how much these blacks can eat when they make up their mind to it; but two could certainly devour a sheep. They will eat till they can't sit upright."

"They would hardly eat as much as that, with a long journey before them," Reuben said; "but allow only three to a sheep, there must be sixty of them. My man said there were a good many more than the trackers put it down at."

"So much the better. I only hope they will show fight."

After five minutes halt, the ride was continued for the next three hours. Then three dead sheep were passed. This time the flesh had not been devoured, but the poor beasts had, in every case, been speared.

"Savage brutes!" Reuben exclaimed. "They might at least have given the sheep a chance of life, when they could go no further, instead of wantonly slaughtering them."

"That's their way, always," Mr. Blount said. "They kill from pure mischief and love of slaughter, even when they don't want the meat. But I don't suppose it makes much difference. I expect the sheep have dropped as much from thirst as from fatigue, and they would probably have never been got up again, after they once fell. I fancy we shall come upon a stream, before long. I have never been out as far as this before, but I know that there is a branch of the Nammo crosses the bush here, somewhere."

Another five miles, and they came upon the river. The wet season was only just over, and the river was full from bank to bank. It was some thirty yards wide, and from two to three feet deep. A score of sheep lay dead in the water. They had apparently rushed headlong in, to quench their thirst; and had either drunk till they fell, or had been trampled under water, by their companions pressing upon them from behind.

For the next ten miles the track was plain enough, then they came to a series of downs, covered with a short grass. At the foot of these another long halt had been made by the blacks.

"We must have come twenty-five miles," Reuben said.

"Quite that, captain. The flock must have been dead beat, by the time they got here. I should think they must have stopped here, last night. We will soon see—there is one of their fireplaces."

The settler dismounted, and put his hand into the ashes.

"Yes," he said, "they are warm still. They must have camped here last night. They started when the moon rose, no doubt. Thus they have eight or nine hours' start of us, only; and as they can't travel fast, after such a journey as they had yesterday, we ought to be able to catch them long before night."

"They will go better today than they did yesterday," Mr. Blount said. "They were over-driven to start with, and that was what knocked them up; but the blacks will begin to feel themselves safe today, and will let them go their own pace. Sheep can do twenty miles in a day, if not hurried."

"Well, at any rate," Reuben said, "we will give our horses a couple of hours' rest. It is just eleven o'clock now, and I should think everyone is ready for a meal."

There was a chorus of assent. The troop dismounted at once. The girths were loosened, the bits taken from the horses' mouths, and they were turned loose to graze in the long grass at the foot of the hill. There was no fear of their attempting to stray, after their journey of the morning. Some of the men set to to cut brush, and in a few minutes a fire was lighted. One of the sheep, of which there were several lying about, was skinned and cut up; and slices, on skewers of green wood, were soon frizzling over the fire.

Twenty minutes later, the water in a large pot hanging over the fire was boiling. Three or four handfuls of tea were thrown in; and with the fried mutton, cold damper, and tea a hearty meal was made. Then pipes were produced and lighted; while several of the men, lying down and shading their faces with their broad hats, indulged in a doze.

"One o'clock," Reuben said at last, looking at his watch. "It is time to be moving again."

The horses were fetched in, the bridles replaced, and the girths tightened.

"Now, which way?" Reuben asked the trackers.

"Along here, captain, by de foot of de hill, de trail is plain enough."

It was so. A track of some width was trampled in the grass.

Reuben was about to give the order to proceed, when he caught Jim's eye, and saw that the black wished to speak to him privately.

"What is it, Jim?" he asked, going apart from the rest.

"That not de way, captain. A hundred, two hundred sheep gone that way, wid four or five black fellow. De rest have all gone over de hill."

"Are you sure, Jim?"

"Me quite sure, sar. De ground very hard; but while de captain smoke him pipe, Jim went over de hill, saw plenty sign of sheep. Went straight uphill, and then turned away to de left. Dis little party here hab only gone to frow white man off de trail."

"The trackers ought to have seen that as well as you, Jim," Reuben said angrily.

"Dey see, sar, sure enough. Could no help seeing, wid half an eye. You see, sar, dose fellows up to no good. Lead party wrong if dey can. Don't say, sar, Jim told you. If you say dat, put 'em on their guard. Massa ride along the trail for a bit, just as if talk wid Jim about odder affair; den after little way, begin to talk about trail being too small, den turn and come back here, and go over de hill."

"A very good idea, Jim. I will do as you say."

Chapter 11: The Black Fellows.

A few minutes after his conversation with Jim the party started, following the broad track through the grass along the foot of the hill. Reuben informed Mr. Blount of what Jim had told him.

"By Jove, I think he is right," the settler said. "The track is as broad as it was, but it is nothing like so much trampled down; but if your fellow says the main body have gone over the hill, why are you following this track?"

Reuben gave his reasons, and said that his man had, before, had suspicions that the trackers were in communication with the wild blacks.

"He thinks that's why it is that they have so frequently failed, here, to catch any of these fellows."

"I shouldn't be at all surprised," Mr. Blount said savagely. "The best thing would be to put a bullet into each of the rascals' heads."

"I think Jim's idea is best," Reuben said. "Now that we have once got our eyes open, they won't be able to do us any more harm; and my black fellow will see we follow the trail right. I don't want them to see we have any suspicions of them, as that would put them on their guard; and by keeping our eye upon them, we may be able to turn the tables."

"That is so," Mr. Blount agreed. "What are you going to do, then?"

"I will call to them, in a minute or two, and tell them that it is your opinion that only a small portion of the flock have come this way. Then we will have a consultation and, no doubt, some of your friends will notice that the ground is not much trampled. Then we will decide to ride back to the point from which we started, and will follow the other trail."

"Yes, that will do very well," the settler agreed.

Reuben at once called to the trackers, who were trotting on ahead, and then ordered a halt. The two blacks came back.

"Joe," Reuben said, "Mr. Blount thinks that the main body of the flock have not come this way. He says he thinks only a hundred or two have come. The ground does not look to me anything like so much trampled as it was before we halted."

"I tink most of dem hab come along here," the tracker said sullenly.

"What do you think?" Reuben asked the other settlers, who had gathered round.

"I did not notice it before," Dick Caister said; "but now Blount has pointed it out, I agree with him entirely. There are nothing like the full number of sheep have passed along here. I should say that they have not gone along more than two or three deep."

There was a general chorus of assent.

"You can't have been keeping your eyes open," Reuben said to the trackers, sharply. "If you don't look sharp in future, we shall quarrel.

"Come, gentlemen, let us ride back to the halting place, and see if we cannot find out which way the main body have gone."

Ten minutes' riding took them back to their starting place.

"They must have gone over the hill," Reuben said. "They certainly have not kept along at the foot, or we should see their tracks in this long grass."

The trackers had exchanged a few words in a low tone, and they now moved up the hill, and began to examine the ground carefully.

"Some of dem have gone this way, captain."

"Of course they have," Mr. Blount said. "A blind man might see that."

The marks of the sheep were indeed plain enough to all, when their attention had once been drawn to the subject. On getting beyond the crest the trackers turned to the left, and Reuben saw that they felt it would be hopeless to attempt, further, to mislead a party containing several settlers who were perfectly capable of following the trail.

Jim had, since speaking to his master, remained in the rear of the troop. After three miles' riding across the downs, they again came down upon a flat country, thickly covered with brush. Here and there pieces of wool sticking to thorns were visible, and the trackers went steadily on for some little time. Then their pace became slower, and finally they stopped.

"Trail ended, captain."

"What do you mean by the trail ended?" Reuben asked angrily. "Why, I can see a piece of wool, on there ahead."

"Dat so, captain; but only a few sheep hab passed here."

Some of the settlers dismounted and, having examined the ground carefully, declared that they were of the same opinion as the trackers.

"Very well," Reuben said; "then in that case, we must go back again to the foot of the hill. They were all together there, and we must take up the trail afresh."

On reaching the foot of the hill, Jim and some of the settlers joined the trackers, and penetrated the bush in all directions. Each returned bringing in pieces of wool.

"It is plain enough," Reuben said, "what they have done. They have broken up into small parties, and have scattered. The question is, 'What are we to do now?'

"What do you think, Mr. Blount? You have had more experience than anyone here, and you are the most interested in our overtaking these rascals. What do you recommend?"

"I don't know what to recommend," the settler said. "They have no doubt done it to confuse us, in case we should follow so far, and avoid being thrown off the scent the other side of the hill. The band may really have scattered, and gone off in small parties to different parts of the bush; or again, they may have scattered with the understanding that they will meet again, at some given spot, which may be ten and may be fifty miles ahead."

"The worst of it is," Reuben said, "I fear now that there is an end of all chance of coming up with them, today; and now the question of water comes in. If we could have caught them before nightfall, the horses, having had a good drink at that stream, could have done very well till we'd gone another thirty miles; but as that seems hopeless, now, we must consider seriously what we had best do, before we go any further. Does anyone here know anything of the country ahead?"

There was a general silence.

"The horses can do very well, tomorrow, without water," Mr. Blount said. "They will chew the leaves of this scrub; and can, if pressed, hold on for even two or three days upon it."

"In that case," Reuben said, "let us go on. We will break up into three parties. One shall go straight forward, the other two moving to the right and left, each following the tracks as well as they can. We will not go much beyond a walk. We have five more hours of daylight yet, and the horses can manage another fifteen miles. I will halt, an hour before it gets dark, and light a fire. The smoke will be a guide to the other two parties, who should not be more than a couple of miles to the right and left, and they will then close in.

"If you can suggest any better plan than that, Mr. Blount, please do so. Of course, I see the objection that the blacks may make out the smoke, and will know that they are being followed."

"Yes, that is an objection," Mr. Blount said; "but the chances are that they will know it without your telling them. It is more than probable that some of them have remained behind, on the watch; and that they will have signalled our coming, long ago."

"Dey have done that, sar," Jim, who was standing close to Reuben's elbow, put in. "Jim saw smoke curl up from the top of de hill, just when we turned, when we lost the trail."

"Why didn't you tell me before, Jim?" Reuben asked.

"De captain didn't ask Jim any question. Jim thought de captain see it for sure."

"I didn't see it, Jim. I don't think any of us saw it. We were all too much occupied looking for the trail. Another time, you tell me what you see without my asking.

"Well in that case, Mr. Blount, there can be no harm in my making a smoke, as they know already that they are pursued. Will you take charge of the right hand party? Sergeant O'Connor will take command of the left. Do you each take a tracker with you. I will take my boy. Three constables will go with each of your parties, and four with me.

"Will you gentlemen please to divide up, so as to make seven altogether in each party, without the natives?"

"I need not tell you to keep a sharp lookout, Captain Whitney. We know the blacks are a very strong party and, now they know that they are pursued they may, as likely as not, make a stand."

"Yes, that is quite possible," Reuben agreed. "Will you please be careful that neither of your parties get more than two miles, at the outside, away from mine? We can hear the sound of rifles, at that distance. If either party fires, the others will of course hurry to their assistance. Now, let us move forward."

With Jim in advance, Reuben's party moved on, the black carefully examining the ground and bushes as he went; and occasionally, somewhat to Reuben's surprise, rising from the stooping position in which he was walking, and looking back over his shoulder. The motive was explained when Jim exclaimed:

"Dere, captain, dere are de signals again."

Reuben turned in the saddle. On the crest of the hill behind him were three columns of smoke. Scarcely had he looked at them when the smoke ceased to ascend, as if the fires had been suddenly put out.

"That's to tell them that we have divided in three parties?" Reuben asked the black.

Jim nodded, and proceeded on his way again.

"That's awkward," Reuben said, "I must warn the other two parties."

So saying, he at once ordered two of the constables to ride right and left and warn the others, who were not as yet more than a quarter of a mile on either hand, that the natives were aware that they had broken up, and that the greatest caution must, therefore, be observed. In ten minutes the two constables returned, having performed their mission.

Although he had no reason to believe that the blacks were within ten miles of him, Reuben now took the precaution of sending one constable out on each flank, to a distance of fifty yards. A third was directed to keep with Jim, fifty yards ahead of the main body; consisting of Reuben himself, a constable, and two colonists. Occasionally Reuben rode forward to question Jim.

"How many sheep do you think have gone along the track you are following?"

"About thirty sheep, and three black fellow."

"How do you know there are three black fellows, Jim? I can see marks, sometimes, of the sheep's feet; but I have not seen a man's footprint at all."

"Jim see 'em, captain, plain enough. When dey all follow sheep, not very plain to see; but sometimes, when de sheep want to scatter, Jim see one footmark on one hand and one on the other, and sure to be one man behind."

"How far are the sheep ahead, Jim, have you any idea?"

"Six, eight hours, sar, when dey pass here; but dere's no saying how far they are, now. May be long way on, may be only little way. Me tink dat they hab not gone so berry far; dat smoke berry thin, not see him more than ten miles."

"I wish you had said that before, Jim," Reuben said. "We would have kept together and have galloped on, and taken our chance of finding them."

"Might have found four or five of dem," Jim replied, "but de others all scattered. No good to find dem, till dey come together again."

"No, you are right there, Jim. We must catch them all together, if we can. There are some twelve hundred sheep, somewhere ahead. Mr. Blount said there were about fifteen hundred driven off. We have come upon a hundred dead ones, and two or three hundred may have taken that turn to the right. As you say, it would be no good coming upon thirty."

For four hours the party continued their journey.

"It is six o'clock," Reuben said, looking at his watch. "We will halt, now, and light that fire."

Two of the constables were told off to keep watch, some fifty yards in front; and the others dismounted, and gathered together materials for a fire. This was soon done, and the smoke mounted straight and clear, a signal to the other two parties to close in.

Suddenly a cry was heard from one of the sentries. The men stooping round the fire leaped to their feet, just in time to see one of the constables struck from his horse by a boomerang, while a dozen spears whizzed through the air at the other. He fell forward on his horse, which carried him up to the fire; as he fell from the saddle, as it stopped, he was caught by two of the others. Three spears had pierced him.

"Stand to your arms. Steady, for your lives," Reuben shouted.

"Jim, throw the horses at once, and fasten their legs.

"We must defend ourselves here," he continued, turning to the others, "until help comes."

Not a moment was lost. The little party threw themselves down in a circle, each taking shelter behind a bush; and Jim speedily got the eight horses down in the centre, for each party had with it three of the spare animals. The whole time, from the first alarm until all was ready to receive the natives, did not occupy two minutes.

The horses of the sentries had galloped wildly on, both having been struck by spears; and Jim had no difficulty with the remainder, which were all standing in a group when the alarm was given, the owners not yet having removed their saddles.

All was done without flurry or excitement, although the yells of the natives rose from the bush all round them. The bush was fortunately not very thick at the point where they had halted, Reuben having selected it for that very reason; but the bushes were sufficiently near to each other to enable an enemy to creep up, within thirty yards or so, without being seen.

"Don't throw away a shot," Reuben called out; "but pick off the blacks, as they stand up to throw their spears.

"Ah!"

The exclamation was accompanied by a shot from his rifle, as a native rose suddenly from the bush and hurled his spear. It missed Reuben by an inch or two only; but, as his rifle flashed out, the black threw up his hands and fell back in the bush.

"Here, sah, dis make good shelter;" and Jim propped up his saddle, almost in front of him.

"That's a good idea, Jim; help the others in the same way."

The five men were all engaged now. The spears whizzed fast over and among them, but most of them were thrown almost at random; for the blacks soon learned that to raise themselves above the bushes, to take aim, was to court sudden death. Jim, after distributing the saddles to their owners, had lain down by the side of his master; and loaded his rifle as fast as he discharged it, Reuben using his pistols as effectually as the rifle, in the intervals.

Fortunately all the party were provided with these weapons. Had it not been so, each man would have been liable to be rushed by the blacks every time he discharged his rifle. As far as possible they fired by turns; so that each man, while loading, was covered by the fire of those on his right and left.

For half an hour the fight continued. Many of the blacks had fallen, but they continued the assault as vigorously as before, and all the defenders had received more or less serious wounds from the spears.

"The others ought to have been here, long before this," Reuben said, "if they had followed my instructions. I only hope they have not been attacked, too; but as we don't hear any firing, that can hardly be so."

"I hope they will be up before dusk," Dick Caister said. "It will be dark in another half an hour. These fellows are only waiting for that to make a rush. If they do, it is all up with us."

"They will find it a tough job, even then," Reuben said; "but the others must be here long before that. I told them to keep within two miles of us. They have had time to ride double that distance, since we made the smoke for them."

Another ten minutes elapsed.

"Hurrah!" Reuben exclaimed, "I can hear the trampling of horse's hoofs. The moment they arrive, make a rush for your horses and charge."

"I am afraid the horses are killed," Dick said ruefully.

"In that case," Reuben said, "we must get to our feet, and pick off the blacks as they run. They will get up like a covey of partridge, as the horsemen come among them."

A loud cheer was heard, and the little party, with an answering shout, sprang to their feet and, rifle to shoulder, stood expecting the blacks to rise; but the ears of the natives were sharper than those of the whites, and they had begun to crawl away before the latter heard the approaching horsemen.

Finding this to be the case, the party ran to their horses. Four exclamations of wrath and grief were heard, for seven of the horses were completely riddled with spears.

Tartar, however, at his master's voice, struggled to rise to his feet. Reuben, aided by Jim, quickly threw off the hobbles; and leaped on to its back as it rose to its feet, just as Mr. Blount, with his party, rode up.

"Keep close together," Reuben exclaimed, as he dashed forward, "we may find some of the scoundrels."

But the chase was in vain. It was already growing dusk, and there was no saying in which direction the natives had crawled away in the bush. After riding for a mile, Reuben reined in his horse.

"It is no use," he said; "we may as well get back to the fire.

"What made you so late, Mr. Blount? We were fighting for three quarters of an hour, before you came up."

"I am very sorry," Mr. Blount replied; "somehow or other, we went wrong altogether. There is nothing to guide one in this flat bush, and the tracker who was leading the way said he was certain he was going as you ordered him. Just before six o'clock we halted, and looked in the direction in which we expected to see your smoke, but there were no signs of it. Presently one of the constables exclaimed:

"'There's the smoke, sir, right behind us.'

"I looked around and, sure enough, there was a column of smoke, and a long way off it was.

"'What have you been doing, you rascal?' I said to the black. 'There's the smoke right behind us. You have been leading us wrong, altogether.'

"The black insisted that he was right, and that the fire must have been made by the black fellows. I didn't know what to make of it. It was two or three minutes past six; and I noticed, when we halted before, that your watch was exactly with mine. So I said to the men:

"'We will wait five minutes longer and, if we see no other smoke, you may be sure that that is made by Captain Whitney.'

"We waited the five minutes, and then I gave the word to start, when one of the men exclaimed:

"'The black fellow's gone.'

"Sure enough, he had slipped away without being noticed, while we were looking for the smoke. I felt sure, now, that something must be wrong; and we galloped towards your smoke, as fast as the horses could lay their feet to the ground. When we were about half way, we heard the sound of firing, and I can tell you that we didn't lose a moment on the way, after that. Have you had any losses?"

"Two of the constables are killed," Reuben said, "and we have all got some more or less ugly scratches. My left arm is useless for a time, I am afraid. A spear went right through it. I fear some of the others have worse hurts."

"What can have become of the sergeant's party?" Mr. Blount said.

"They must have gone the wrong way, too," Reuben replied. "I told you I suspected those trackers of being in league with the blacks, and I have no doubt your fellow led you purposely astray, in order to give them an opportunity of cutting us off before you could arrive to our assistance. I suppose the other party has been misled in the same way. It is fortunate, indeed, that you made up your mind to ride for our smoke when you did. A quarter of an hour later, and you would have found only our bodies, and would probably have been ambushed in turn."

"Yes, it has been a close thing, indeed," Mr. Blount said. "I was wrong, after what you told me, to trust that black scoundrel so entirely; but I own it never entered my mind that he was leading us astray."

By this time they had reached the fire, which was blazing high.

"How are you all?" Reuben asked. "Nobody badly hurt, I hope?"

"Nothing very bad, captain," Dick Caister replied cheerfully. "We have all had our skin ripped up a bit, but nothing very deep. That dodge of the saddles, of your black fellow, saved us. Mine was knocked over half a dozen times by spears, each of which would have done its business, if it hadn't been for it. I owe him my life so completely, that I forgive him for making our horses a barricade, to save yours."

Reuben laughed. He had noticed, when he ran for his horse, that Jim had thrown him in the centre of the others: and their bodies completely sheltered him from the spears of the natives.

"It was not fair, perhaps," he said; "but my horse would have been killed, as well as yours, had he not done so; and Jim loves him almost as well as he does me. He has watched over and guarded him for the last three years."

"I am not angry with him," Dick said. "Nothing could have saved our horses from being killed, and if one was to be saved, it is as well it should be Tartar, and not one of the others, as yours was far the most valuable of the five."

"Pile on the bushes," Reuben said to one of the constables. "Make as big a blaze as you can. It will act as a beacon to the sergeant and his party."

Half an hour later the trampling of horses' hoofs was heard and, a few minutes later, the sergeant and his party rode up.

"I am sorry I am so late, sir," the sergeant said. "Somehow or other we went wrong altogether, and saw nothing of your smoke. I was afraid something was wrong, but did not know what to do; so we halted till it came on dark, and presently made out a fire; but it was miles away, and right in the direction from which we had come. I did not think it could be you but, whether it was you or the blacks, that was the place to ride to."

"Have you got the tracker with you, sergeant?"

"Yes, sir; at least, I saw him trotting ahead, ten minutes ago. Why, where has he got to?"

The tracker was not to be seen.

"He has made off to join the blacks, I expect," Reuben said. "You have been led astray purposely. We have been attacked, and Brown and Simpson are killed."

An exclamation of rage broke from the men, who were in the act of dismounting.

"I expect," Reuben said, turning to Mr. Blount, "that the fellows noticed the talk I had with Jim, before we turned back from the false trail, and concluded that we had some suspicion that they were in league with the blacks; and so, when the party separated, they determined to lead the two flanking columns astray, so as to give their friends a chance of attacking us, and then to bolt."

"I expect that is it," Mr. Blount agreed. "And now, the first thing is to get something to eat. When that is done, we will have a consultation."

While the meat was cooking over the fire, Reuben told off a party of eight men to bury the bodies of the two constables who had fallen. The task was speedily completed, two holes being easily scraped in the light, sandy soil.

After supper was over, the settlers gathered round Reuben.

"Now, captain, what do you mean to do?" Mr. Blount asked. "I have given up all hope of seeing my sheep again, so don't let them influence you, but just do as you think best. The blacks are in strong force, that is evident; and it will be a serious business pursuing them any further, in their own country."

"I am going to pursue them till I catch them," Reuben said; "that is to say, as long as there is a sheep track to serve as a guide. I don't ask you, gentlemen, to go further, for I know it is a serious risk; but it is my duty to hunt those fellows down, and give them a lesson, and I mean to do it. We shall never have safety in the settlements, until those fellows come to understand that, whenever they attack us, they will be hunted down."

"I think you are right," Dick Caister said, "and as long as you go on, I go with you for one, whatever comes of it. But how I am to go without my horse, I don't know."

"There are the spare horses," Reuben said "Fortunately we have still got six of them."

"So we have," Dick exclaimed joyfully. "I had forgotten all about them. What luck, our bringing them with us!"

The other settlers all announced their intention of continuing the chase, as long as Reuben was willing to push on.

"I will tell you what my idea is," Reuben said. "The horses are already worn out and, by the end of another day, they will be half mad with thirst. I propose that we take two days' supply for ourselves, in our water bottles; and that we push forward on foot, sending two of the constables back to the stream, with our horses. I propose that we should push forward tonight. I expect the track we are following is the true one, and the stars will do as a guide.

"At daybreak we will lie down in the bushes. The blacks will probably leave some fellows behind, as scouts. They, seeing nothing of us, will suppose we have given it up and gone home, and they will make but a short journey. At night we will go on again, and the chances are that, before morning, we shall catch sight of their fires, and will fall upon them at daylight. What do you think of the plan?"

"I think it is a good one," Mr. Blount said, warmly. "A capital plan. Of course we don't much like leaving our horses, for in this country one almost lives on horseback. Still, it will be the best plan, certainly; for as you say, the poor brutes will be half mad, by tomorrow night, with thirst."

"It will be a long tramp back again," a settler said dismally.

"We won't tramp all the way," Reuben said with a smile. "Directly we have overtaken the blacks, and given them a lesson, I will send Jim back again for the horses. He can cover the ground at a wonderful pace, and coming back he will ride one of them, and help the two constables to keep them together. They will have had two days' rest, and plenty of food and water, and will meet us before we get halfway back. There will be no fear of the blacks attacking them."

All agreed that the plan was excellent, and half an hour later the whole party—with the exception of the two constables, who were to start at daybreak with the horses, for the river—set out on their march. The sky was cloudless, and the stars would have been a sufficient guide, even had they not had Jim with them. The black, however, took his place at the head of the party, and strode along as unhesitating as if it had been broad daylight.

Chapter 12: The Bush Rangers.

Scarce a word was spoken as the little party marched along. It was possible, although very improbable, that the natives, on scattering before the charge of Mr. Blount and his companions, might have left some of their number behind, to watch the movements of their pursuers. They would, however, certainly not anticipate the whites pushing forward that night. The fire had been piled high, the last thing before leaving, and the two men left there were told to keep it burning brightly till morning, and to start before anyone watching in the distance would be able to see whether the horses were mounted, or not. Should any natives approach the fire, after they had gone, they would take it for granted that the whole party had ridden back to the settlement.

All night, Reuben and his companions marched steadily forward; and were glad to throw themselves down on the ground, at the first appearance of daybreak. Four sentries were placed, with strict orders to keep a bright lookout through the bushes, but on no account to raise their heads above their level; and, arrangements having been made for their relief, every two hours, the rest of the party were soon sound asleep.

Except to relieve the sentries, there was no stir among them until late in the afternoon. Then there was a general movement, and soon all were sitting up, and appeasing their appetite upon the cold meat and dampers they had brought with them.

"There is no harm in a pipe, I suppose, captain?" Dick Caister said laughingly.

"No, I think we can risk that," Reuben replied. "The eyes of the savages may be wonderfully keen, but they would be a great deal sharper than I can give them credit for, were they to notice the smoke of a dozen pipes, curling up among the bushes."

"I suppose, Mr. Blount," Reuben said as, after the meal was finished, the party lighted their pipes and drew closely round the fire, "you have heard of a good many bad businesses, with the blacks and bush rangers, in your time?"

"I have, indeed," Mr. Blount replied. "In the early days, the settlers had a hard time of it with the blacks; who were, of course, stronger than they are now and, after they had got over their first fear of firearms, more fearless of the whites. The bush rangers too were, when first they began to send convicts here, more numerous than at present. I do not know that they were as desperate as they are now—not so ready to take life, without provocation. You see, there was a very much larger run of country open to them; and many convicts who escaped, and took to the bush, were content to have gained their freedom. Some of them took black gins, and never troubled the colonists again; beyond, perhaps, coming down to a station and carrying off a sheep or two, or a bullock, when they got sick of kangaroo meat and wanted a change.

"You see, the first settlers were generally poor and hard-working men. Young men with a little capital had not as yet been attracted here, so there was but little inducement for the escaped convicts to meddle with them. There were, of course, some notorious scoundrels, who seemed to murder for the pure love of the thing. The worst of them, I think, was a fellow who went by the name of Cockeye. What his real name was, I never heard.

"That man was a perfect devil; and was, for a long time, the terror of the settlers. He never worked with other white men, but lived among the blacks. Of course, in those days the police system was in its infancy, and we had to rely upon ourselves. I had a narrow escape, once, of losing my life, from him and his blacks.

"When I was about seventeen, I lived with my father and mother in a station about fifty miles from Sydney, or as it was called then Port Jackson. It was at that time quite an outlying station. We had two convicts allotted to us, both of them honest fellows enough, who had been transported for poaching or something of that kind—anyhow, they were not old hands, and gave no trouble. My father was a kind master, and we always felt that, in case of need, we could rely upon them just as upon ourselves. In those days it was next to impossible to get hired hands for, as there was plenty of land for anyone to squat upon, comparatively close to the port, the men who came out generally set up for themselves, at once.

"One day I had been out on horseback, to look for a couple of bullocks which had strayed away; and was on my way back when, ahead of me, I heard the cooey of the blacks. I didn't think much of it, because they were common enough at that time, and a party had made a sort of encampment at a stream, about a mile from the house; but when, a minute later, I heard a gun fired, I guessed that there was mischief.

"The sound seemed to come from away towards the right, where I knew that one of our men was out, herding the bullocks; so I clapped spurs to my horse, and rode in that direction. When I got near, I saw the cattle running wildly about, and a mob of black fellows among them. I could see no signs of our man, and guessed that he must have gone down; and that I had best ride and warn them, at the house.

"The blacks saw me, and started at a run in my direction, but I soon left them behind. I was within a quarter of a mile of the house, when a native yell burst out ahead of me, followed by two shots. I rode on and, when I got near the house, saw a lot of black fellows round it.

"Then came a flash from one of the upper windows, and I saw one of them roll over. That was a satisfaction, for I knew they hadn't caught my father asleep. I knew the doors and shutters were strong, and that he could make a good fight of it. Still, there was only him and my mother at home, for both the men had gone out before I left in the morning; and one man hasn't much chance of holding a house, attacked on all sides. So I made up my mind to try to dash through them, when the shutter opened a little, and my father shouted out:

"'Ride for help, Bill. I will keep them off, till you get back.'

"So I turned; but when I had gone a few yards I looked over my shoulder, and I saw a man dash out from behind the house on horseback, and start at a gallop after me. It was a bay with a white leg, and I knew that Cockeye used to ride such a horse, and that there wasn't a better in the colony. Almost at the same moment I heard a shot again, but I didn't look round.

"I can tell you I felt pretty badly frightened, for there was no mercy to be expected from that scoundrel, and I knew that he was a good deal better mounted than I was. The next station was about four miles off, and I had about two hundred yards start, but before I had gone half a mile, he was within fifty yards of me. I could hear him, cursing and swearing and shouting to me to stop, but I had made up my mind I would not do that.

"I had got a brace of pistols with me, but I wasn't much of a shot. I had, soon after I started, pulled them out of the holsters and shoved them into my belt in front of me; so that, as he came up, he shouldn't see my hand go down for them. My hope was that he would ride straight up to the side of me, not knowing that I was armed; and that would give me a chance of suddenly letting fly at him.

"You would think the chance was a poor one; and that he would, to a certainty, shoot me down before he got up. I did not much think he would do that, for I guessed that the scoundrel would do with me as he had in some other cases; namely, take me and carry me back to the house, and there either threaten to shoot me, or hang me up over a fire, or some such devilry, to make those inside give in. I was determined this shouldn't be, and that if I could not shoot him I would be shot myself; for otherwise he would have got my father and mother, and it would have been three lives instead of one.

"Presently—crack!—came the sound of a pistol, and I heard the bullet whiz close by. I expect that it was only to frighten me into stopping; but in a second or two he fired again, and the shot just grazed my shoulder, so he was in earnest that time.

"I bent low on my saddle, got a pistol out of my belt, and prepared. There was another shot, the horse gave a spring and I knew he was hit, but for a time he went faster than ever; still, the last shot wasn't from more than twenty yards behind; and I expected, every minute, to see his horse's head coming up beside me. Then I heard a curse and a sudden fall and, looking round, saw his horse was down.

"Cockeye was on his feet in a moment, and drew another pistol from his holster; so I concluded to keep on as hard as I could go, without waiting to make inquiries. I guessed pretty well what had happened. The shot I had heard my father fire, as he started after me, had hit the horse; and the poor brute had kept on until he dropped. I understood the fellow's firing, now. He felt his horse was failing under him, and his only chance was to stop me.

"I kept on till I got safe to the station. The three men there started in different directions, to fetch assistance, and by the evening we had a score of men assembled there, and started back to our station. We heard a cooey when we were within a mile of the place, and guessed it was a fellow on the watch. By the time we got there they had all cleared off, but it was a close thing.

"My mother was a courageous woman, and had defended the back of the house, and my father the front. The blacks had made several attempts to burn the place down; but the roof, like the walls, was made of solid timber; which is the only safe way to build a house, when you are exposed to attacks of the blacks.

"As long as daylight lasted the old people had done very well, and had kept the blacks at a distance; and we saw, by the marks of blood in the morning, that they must have killed or wounded eight or ten of them; but if we hadn't come up before the blacks had darkness to cover them, it would have gone hard with them. Of course we knew that, and calculated so as to get there before nightfall."

"What became of the bush ranger?" Reuben asked.

"Well, curiously enough, that was the last time he ever troubled the settlements. We never knew exactly what became of him, but it was said that the blacks killed and eat him. I know that was very often the end of those fellows. As long as all went on well, the blacks were friendly enough with them, and were glad to follow their lead; but after a repulse like that they got at our station, or perhaps as a result of some quarrel about the division of the plunder, or their gins, or something of that sort, they would fall suddenly on their white friends, and make cooked meat of them."

"I suppose the blacks seldom spare any whites who fall into their hands?" Reuben asked.

"Scarcely ever," Mr. Blount replied. "That was why they were more dreaded than the bush rangers. The latter would kill, if they were in the humour for it; but if there was no serious resistance, and none of their number got hurt, more often than not they contented themselves by leaving everyone tied, hand and foot, till somebody came to unloose them.

"I remember one horrible case, in which they so tied up three white men at a lonely station, and nobody happened to go near it for three weeks afterwards. It struck someone that none of them had been seen, for some time; and a couple of men rode over and, to their horror, found the three men dead of hunger and thirst.

"Now the black fellows don't do that sort of thing. When they do attack a station and take it, they kill every soul; man, woman, and child."

"I suppose, in that affair you were telling us of," Reuben asked, "both of your ticket-of-leave men were killed?"

"Yes. One seemed to have been surprised and speared at once. The other had made a stout fight of it, for the bodies of three natives were found near him."

"I remember one case," one of the others said, "in which the blacks did spare one of the party, in a station which they attacked. It was a little girl of about three years old. Why they did so I don't know; perhaps the chief took a fancy to her. Maybe he had lost a child of the same age, and thought his gin would take to the little one. Anyhow, he carried her off.

"The father happened to be away at the time. He had gone down to Sydney with a waggon, for stores; and when he got back he found the house burned, and the bodies of his wife, two boys, and two men, but there was no trace of that of the child.

"He was nearly out of his mind, poor fellow. The neighbours all thought that the body must have been burned with the house; but he would have it that there would have been some sign of her. No one else thought so; and besides, it wasn't the custom of the blacks to carry off anyone. The father got a party to try and follow the blacks, but of course it was no use. They had pretty near two days' start.

"The father never took to his farm again, but hung about the out stations, doing a job here and there for his grub. Sometimes he would be away for a bit, and when he came back, though he never talked about it, everyone knew he had been out hunting the blacks.

"I do not know how many of them he killed, but I know he never spared one, when he got him outside the settlement. After a time the blacks never troubled that part. So many of them had been killed that they got a superstitious fear of the man, and believed he was possessed of an evil spirit; and I don't believe twenty of them, together, would have dared to attack him.

"At last, from some of the half-tamed blacks in the settlement, he got to hear some sort of rumour that there was a white girl, living with one of the tribes far out in their country, and he set out. He was away four months, and he never said what he had been doing all the time. In fact, he started almost directly for the port, and went home by the next ship.

"However, he brought his child back with him. It was four years since she had been carried off, and she was a regular little savage, when she arrived in the settlement with him. Of course she could not speak a word of English, and was as fierce as a little wildcat. I expect she got all right, after a bit.

"I didn't see the man, but I heard he was worn to a shadow, when he got back. He must have had an awful time of it, in the bush. What with hunger and thirst, and dodging the blacks, I don't know how he lived through it; but he looked contented and happy, in spite of his starvation, and they say it was wonderful to see how patient he was with the child.

"They got up a subscription, at Sydney, to send them both home. I heard that the captain of the ship he went in said, when he came back the next voyage, that the child had taken to him, and had got civilized and like other children before they got to England."

"Of course, such fellows as Cockeye and Fothergill are the exceptions, and not the rule," Mr. Blount said. "Were there many of such scoundrels about, we should have to abandon our settlements and make war upon them; for there would be no living in the colony till they were exterminated. Most of these fellows are the colonial version of the highwaymen, at home. It is just 'Stand and deliver.' They content themselves with taking what they can find in a traveller's pockets, or can obtain by a flying visit to his station."

"Yes, I had several of those in my last district," Reuben said. "They were just mounted robbers, and gave us a good deal of trouble in hunting them down. But none of them had shed blood during their career, and they did not even draw a pistol when we captured them. That style of bush ranger is a nuisance, but no more. Men seldom carry much money about with them here, and no great harm was done."

"You see," Dick Caister said, "these fellows have a remarkable objection to putting their necks in the way of a noose; so that although they may lug out a pistol and shout 'Bail up!' they will very seldom draw a trigger, if you show fight. So long as they do not take life they know that, if they are caught, all they have to expect is to be kept at hard work during the rest of their sentence, and perhaps for a bit longer. They don't mind the risk of that. They have had their outing, sometimes a long one; but if they once take life, they know its hanging when they are caught; and are therefore careful not to press too hard upon their triggers.

"But once they have killed a man, they don't generally care how many more lives they take. They are desperate, then, and seem to exult in devilry of all kinds. As to being stuck up by an ordinary bush ranger, one would think no more of it than of having one's pockets picked, in England.

"It's lucky for us, on the whole, that the black fellows have such a hatred of the white men. Were it not for that, a good many of these fellows would go all lengths, relying on taking to the bush when they had made the colony too hot to hold them. But there are only a few of them that have ever got on well with the blacks, and many a man who has gone out into the bush has found his end there. You see, there's no explaining to a dozen natives, who jump up and begin to throw spears and boomerangs at you, that you are a bad white fellow, and not a colonist on the search for fresh runs.

"No, the bush rangers on the whole are not such a bad lot of fellows. I suppose there is not one of us, here, who hasn't had men ride up and ask for food; who were, he knew pretty well, bush rangers. Of course they got their food, as anyone else would who rode up to a station and asked for it.

"Once, only, I was told to hand over any money I had in the house. As, fortunately, I had only a few pounds I gave it up without making a fight for it. It's no use risking one's life, unless for something worth fighting for. I suppose most of us here have had similar experiences."

There was a general chorus of assent among the settlers.

"Many of them are poor-spirited wretches. Two of them bailed up a waggoner of mine, coming out with a load from the port. He pretended to give in and, as they were opening some of the boxes, he knocked one over with the butt end of his whip. The other fired a hasty shot, and then jumped on to his horse and galloped off again; and my man brought in the fellow he had stunned."

"Did you hand him over to the police?" Reuben asked.

"Not I," the settler laughed. "I thought he had got what he deserved, so I bandaged up his head and let him go. Those poor beggars of convicts have a dreadful hard time of it, and I don't think there are many settlers who would hand over any man who had escaped, and taken to the bush, even if he had occasionally bailed up a waggoner or so. We know what a flogging the poor wretch would get and, as long as it's only an occasional robbery, to keep themselves from starving, we don't feel any great animosity against them. It's different, altogether, when they take to murder. Then, of course, they must be hunted down like wild beasts.

"And now I vote that we have a nap. My pipe's out, and I suppose we shall be on the tramp again, as soon as it is dark."

Chapter 13: Bush Rangers.

As soon as it became dark, the journey was renewed.

"Now, Jim, you must keep your eyes well open," Reuben said. "There is no saying when we may come upon them, now."

"I tink dey not berry far off, sah. Dose sheep too tired to go far. Black fellow glad to stop and rest, when he see no one coming after him.

"De ground more up and down here. Must no make noise. May come upon dem sudden."

It was nearly midnight when Jim suddenly halted.

"What is it, Jim?" Reuben asked, in a low voice.

Jim stood sniffing the air.

"Me smell fire, captain."

Reuben sniffed the air, but shook his head.

"I don't smell anything, Jim."

"I smell him, sah, sure enough; not very close, perhaps, but in de air."

"What is it, Captain Whitney?" Mr. Blount asked, as he came forward and joined them.

"Jim says he smells fire, but I can't smell it."

"Oh, you can trust Jim's nose," the settler said. "It is wonderful how keen is the scent of these natives. They are like dogs in that respect; and can perceive the smell of a fire, when the wind brings it down to them, miles away."

"Dis way now, sah," Jim said, turning off to the left, at right angles to the course which they had been pursuing. "Smell come down the wind, dat's sartin. We follow him far enough, we sure to catch dem."

For fully two miles, Reuben followed the black without speaking. Then he said:

"I don't smell any smoke, Jim. Are you quite sure you are right about it?"

"Quite sure, sah. De smoke much stronger than he was. Some of dese bushes make very sharp smell; can smell him very far away."

"That's all right, Jim, on we go then. I must take your word for it."

After another half-an-hour's walking, Reuben thought that he too could smell an odour of burning wood and, soon afterwards, he became convinced that it was so. The ground on which they were crossing was slightly undulated and, on nearing the crest of one of the slight rises, Jim said:

"De smoke am getting strong now, sah; and Jim can hear de bleating of de sheep. If de captain will wait here, Jim will go on ahead, and find out where dey lie."

"But perhaps you won't be able to find us again."

"Der no fear of dat, sah. But if I not come straight back, I give a little whistle-like this—when I get on to a rise; and if the captain answer in just the same way, then I come straight back to him."

So saying, Jim glided away in the darkness; while Reuben gave the word for the men to halt, and lie down till his return. There was, however, no occasion for a signal for, in little over half an hour from the time of Jim's leaving, he rejoined them again; his coming being unnoticed until he stood among them, so noiseless were his footsteps.

"We hab dem dis time, sure enough, captain."

"Why, is that you, Jim? You quite startled me. Well, what is your news?"

"De black fellows and de sheep are a little over a mile away, sah. Dey got a big fire down in a bottom. Some of dem eating still, but most of dem fast asleep round de fire."

"How many are there of them?"

"About fifty, sah—at least, dat about the number Jim saw. I expect I was right when I tell you dat there was well nigh a hundred, at fust. Some ob them go off wid de sheep, de odder way, and we kill over twenty in dat fight."

"Do you think we killed so many as that, Jim?"

"I went round, sah, and counted sixteen of dem; and some sure to have crawl away and die in de bush. Dere were over twenty killed altogether, for sure; and I specks dat some more hab left de party today, and gone off wid dere share of de sheep to der people."

"Well, what do you think, Mr. Blount—shall we attack them tonight, or wait till morning?"

"I should say wait till morning, certainly," the settler said. "We might shoot a few if we attack them now, but the rest would be all off, at the first flash of our gun; and we should never get another shot. I think our best plan would be to remain where we are, for another couple of hours—it is two o'clock now—then Jim will guide us to the place, and we can take up our position as close as we can get, and wait for daylight."

"There is no fear of their making a move before it is light, Jim?"

"No, sah. Dey tink dey am safe now, and eat one big feast. Dey not move till light, sartain."

"Very well, Mr. Blount, then we will do as you say. When we get near them we will divide into four parties. You, with four men, shall move up close to the sheep, Sergeant O'Connor, with four others, shall work up from the other end of the bottom. Five others shall make a detour, and get right on the other side of their fire; and I, with the other three and Jim, who you see has got one of the constables' rifles and ammunition, will come down on them from this side.

"Jim will place all the parties, taking them by turns, as near the fire as he thinks safe; and will then return to me. Only, as we shall attack them from four sides, let everyone be careful about his shooting; otherwise we shall have casualties from our own shots.

"All will remain quiet until I fire. Then a general volley must be poured in, with bullet and buckshot; and when the rifles and guns are empty, go right at them with pistol and sword."

The plan was carried out as arranged and, before daybreak, the four parties were lying in the positions allotted to them, within forty yards of the blacks. A few of these were seen sitting by the fire, the rest were all asleep.

Gradually the light began to creep over the sky and, as it became lighter, there was a movement among the blacks. As soon as he could see perfectly, Reuben was about to fire in the air; for he did not like to fire at unsuspecting men, in spite of the deeds of blood and rapine they had performed in the settlement.

Presently, however, his eye fell upon one of the treacherous trackers, who had so nearly brought destruction upon them. He levelled his rifle and fired, and the man fell dead in his tracks.

As the rest of the blacks leapt to their feet, a volley from nineteen guns was poured into them—followed by seven or eight more, as most of the settlers were armed with double-barrelled guns; a few buckshot being dropped into each barrel, over the bullets. Then came the sharp cracks of the pistols, as the whites rushed down to the assault.

The natives attempted no resistance. Panic stricken at the sudden appearance of the foe, whom they imagined by this time far back on their way to the settlements; and paralysed by the slaughter made by the first volley, they thought only of flight. A few caught up their spears and waddies, as they made a dash for the bushes, and strove to effect their escape between the parties advancing on each side of them; but the latter were now close at hand and, for a minute or two, a fight took place between the whites, with their clubbed muskets, and the natives with their spears and waddies. But it was soon over, for the natives only fought to escape and, as soon as they saw an opening, bounded away into the bushes.

Only one of the assailants was killed, but several were more or less severely wounded by the spears; while no less than thirty-four of the blacks were killed. The victors made no attempt at pursuit but, as soon as the last of the natives had escaped, they gathered to ascertain what loss had taken place, on their side.

"Poor Phillips is killed," Mr. Blount said, as he examined the body. "The spear has gone right through his throat. Fortunately he was a single man. He has only been out here a few months, and was staying down at Dick Caister's."

"Poor Tom," Dick said, in feeling tones. "He was a capital young fellow, and I am deeply sorry. Fortunately he has left no one behind to grieve more than I do for him, for he lost his father and mother shortly before he came out, and was alone in the world."

"I am thankful it's no worse," Mr. Blount said. "We have given the blacks a terrible lesson. I think, as far as they are concerned, we can sleep in peace for a long time. Of course we have not done with them, for they are very revengeful; but a blow like this will render them careful, for a long time, how they attack us.

"How many of them have fallen?"

"Thirty-four," Reuben said. "Jim has just been counting them up.

"Now, Mr. Blount, we will have another of your sheep for breakfast, and then we'll be off."

The sheep had scattered somewhat, at the alarm of the fire, but were soon driven together again. One was caught and killed, and slices of the meat were stuck up on ramrods, and were soon frizzling before the fire.

"Well, Mr. Blount, how many sheep do you think there are here?"

"I have just been looking them over," the settler replied, "and I should say there must be nearly twelve hundred; so that, allowing for two hundred driven off in the other direction, and a hundred dropped by the way, the whole flock are accounted for. I am indeed obliged to you, and to my friends here. I never expected to see a tail of them again, when I found they were off."

"I am very glad you have recovered so many of them," Reuben said, "and still more, that we have given the blacks such a lesson. We will, as soon as we have finished, be on the march. Jim will go on ahead at once, as we agreed; and he tells me will get to the stream where the horses are before night, and will start out with them at once, so that we may be able to meet them tomorrow, early. I fancy our water bottles are all getting very low, but we can hold on for today."

As soon as he had finished eating, Jim started off at a run, which Reuben knew he would keep up for hours. The body of young Phillips was buried; and then, collecting the flock and driving it before them, the rest started upon their return. The sheep could not travel fast, for many of them were footsore with their hurried journey; but they had found plenty of nourishment in the grass at the bottoms, and in the foliage of the bushes and, being so supplied, had suffered little from thirst.

Jim, before starting, had pointed out the exact line they were to follow, and this they kept by compass. With only one or two short halts, they kept on until nightfall and, leaving the sheep in a grassy bottom, lit their fire on the crest above it, in order that its flame might serve as a guide to Jim, should he get back with the horses before daylight.

There was but little talking, before each stretched himself at length before the fire. They had been twenty-four hours without sleep, and all were now suffering severely from thirst. The last drops in the water bottles had been emptied, early in the day; and they were parched not only by the heat of the sun, but by the stifling dust raised by the flock as they travelled.

There had been but little supper eaten. Indeed, most of them contented themselves with chewing pieces of raw meat, to satisfy their thirst rather than their hunger. Although they had no fear of the return of the natives, Reuben thought it only prudent to keep watch, and each of the party had half an hour on sentry duty.

The day was just beginning to break, when the man on guard exclaimed:

"I can hear the trampling of horses!"

The news brought everyone to their feet, and in a few minutes the two constables and Jim rode up, driving before them the horses of the rest of the party.

"Well done, Jim!" Reuben exclaimed. "Now, the first thing, get one of the water skins off."

One of the skins was unfastened in a minute and, after copious draughts, everyone felt refreshed and ready for work again.

"We cannot start for a few hours," Reuben said. "The horses must have come over forty miles, and won't be fit to travel till the afternoon; fortunately there is plenty of grass for them in the bottom. And now that my thirst is allayed, I begin to discover that I am hungry."

There was a general chorus of assent. The fire was made up again. The men went down to the bottom, and killed and brought up a sheep; and all were soon engaged in making up for their twenty-four hours' fast.

In the afternoon a start was made; but although they travelled all night, they did not reach the stream until the following afternoon, as they were obliged to accommodate their pace to that of the sheep. The following morning Reuben rode forward to the settlements, leaving Mr. Blount, with two of his friends, to come on with the flock at his leisure.

At the first farm he reached Reuben heard that, as he feared, the bush rangers had taken advantage of so many of the settlers being away to recommence their attacks. At the first two houses they visited, they had found the inmates on the watch, and had moved off without making any attack. At the third they had surprised and killed a settler, his wife, and two hired men, and had sacked and burned the house. Reuben learned that some of the police had gone off in pursuit.

Leaving his horse to the care of the settler, Reuben borrowed a fresh animal and rode off to the scene of the outrage, which was some thirty miles distant. Just as he arrived there he met the party of eight police, who had been in pursuit of the bush rangers, and they reported that they had lost all trace of them.

For the next two or three weeks Reuben did not return to his headquarters, spending the time in riding from station to station, with a small party of police, and urging upon the settlers the necessity not only of strongly barricading their houses, but of keeping a watch by turns; as the bush rangers seldom attack a place, unless they can gain the advantage of a surprise.

As nothing had been heard of the bush rangers, Reuben determined to return to his barrack. He was spending the last night at Dick Caister's when, just as they were about to turn in, the sound of a horse's hoofs, at full gallop, was heard.

"Something is the matter," Dick said. "Men don't ride like that, at night, for nothing."

He went to the door and opened it, just as the horseman stopped in front.

"Quick, Caister!" the man said as he leaped down, "the bush rangers are not fifty yards behind."

And indeed, the sound of the trampling of other horses sounded close behind.

"Come in, come in!" Dick cried. "Ah! Is it you, Shillito? Never mind the horse, he must look after himself. Luckily the captain's here, and we will give it them hot. Just run round and see that all the shutters are fastened."

As Dick spoke he was barring the door, and he now shouted at the top of his voice to the two hired men, who were in bed upstairs; but before any answer could be returned, there was a thundering knocking at the door.

"What is it?" Dick shouted.

"Open the door, and be quick about it, or it will be worse for you. We want that chap that's just ridden up, and we mean to have him, so he had best come out at once. If you don't open the door at once, we will cut the throats of every soul in the house."

"You have got to get at our throats first, my fine fellow," Dick said jeeringly.

The knocking was at once renewed, but with greater violence.

"The door's a strong one," Dick said to Reuben, "and it will stand a good deal of that sort of thing; but we may as well move the table and benches up against it, then we can see how things stand."

Reuben had been busy taking down the guns, which hung over the fireplace; dropping a ramrod into them to see that they were charged, and putting fresh caps on to the nipples. His own rifle stood in the corner; and was, he knew, ready for service.

"What arms have you altogether, Caister?"

"I have that rifle and double-barrel gun. Both my hands have got muskets; I got them up from Sydney, a few months back."

The two men now came running down from above, each with his musket.

"Where is Jim?" Reuben said, looking round.

"He went out about ten minutes ago," Dick said. "I fancy he went to look after your horse. He takes as much care of that animal as if it were a child."

"I hope they won't find him in the stable, and cut his throat," Reuben said. "He is wonderfully faithful and attached to me. I would not have harm come to him, for anything.

"Now, I will go upstairs and reconnoitre. Now those fellows have left off knocking at the door, they are a good deal more dangerous than when they were kicking up all the row."

"Mind how you show yourself, captain, as likely enough one of them is on the watch, expecting that we should be sure, sooner or later, to take a look out of that window. So keep well back. The night is pretty light, so I expect you will be able to make them out."

"Can we get a view of the stable from that window?"

"Yes," Dick replied, "I rather had that in my mind's eye, when I put the stable up. It's always a good thing, men knowing that their master can have an eye upon them, when they least expect it. Why do you ask?"

"Because if the window commands the stable door, we can prevent them getting the horses out."

"Yes," Dick said, "after losing two in that last affair, it would be a serious matter to have the rest of them carried off."

Reuben went up the stairs and made his way towards the window, standing a short distance back. He could see no one moving about in the yard, and he was about to move close to it, when a tremendous crash took place below, followed by loud shouts. He ran downstairs again.

The bush rangers had moved round to the back of the house and, there picking up a young tree which had been brought in, to saw up into billets for firewood, they used it as a battering ram against one of the shutters; and at the very first blow broke it off its hinges, and then made a rush at the window. Two shots rang out almost together; and then, firing a hasty volley into the window, the bush rangers began to climb in. But by this time Reuben had arrived, and the sharp cracks of his pistols rang out.

"They have got the police here!" one of the men exclaimed, as he caught a sight of Reuben's uniform.

"Draw off, lads, I expect it's that accursed captain," another voice exclaimed. "He's always riding about, with nobody but that black fellow with him. He has got to go down, that fellow has, or he will give us no end of trouble; but draw off from that window, for a moment."

"What will they do next, I wonder?" Dick Caister said as, leaving the two hands to guard the window, he returned into the other room with Reuben.

"I rather expect they are going to try to burn us out. We must keep them from that, if we can.

"Mr. Shillito, will you go up to the upper room, and keep an eye on the stables? Shoot down anyone who may pass your line of sight.

"Haven't you got any loopholes, Caister?"

"Yes, of course I have," Dick replied. "I had forgotten all about them. Yes, there are two loopholes in the logs in each side of the house, upstairs. They have been shut up by wisps of straw, ever since the house was built."

Giving strict orders, to the two men, to shout instantly if anyone moved near the window, the two young men went upstairs.

"Have you seen anything, Shillito?"

"Not a thing. One would almost think that they have bolted."

"They will hardly do that, I fancy," Reuben said. "There are ten or twelve of them, but I think one or two must have got a bullet in them."

"I wish they would come on," Dick said, as he pulled out the straw from the loopholes.

Reuben went to them all in succession, and looked out, but nothing could be seen of their assailants. Presently, however, a number of dark figures appeared, each bearing a burden.

"They have been cutting brush wood!" Reuben exclaimed. "I was right, you see. They are going to try to smoke or burn us out. Now I think it's time to give them a lesson."

"Look, look!"

The exclamation was excited by a sudden glare of light, on the other side of the stables.

"The scoundrels have set fire to the stables!" Shillito said.

"What shall we do—make a sally?" Caister asked. "I am ready for it, if you think right."

"No," Reuben said, "they would only shoot us down as we come out. They must guess that some of us are up at this window, or they would try to carry the horses off, instead of destroying them.

"I only wish we were on the poor beasts' backs. We would go for them, though they were twice as many.

"I don't see the others now—they must have gone round to the other side of the house."

Scarcely had Reuben taken up his station, at one of the loopholes behind, than he again saw the dark figures. He took steady aim and fired. There was a sharp cry, and one of the fellows fell to the ground. The others at once threw down their burdens, and fled. Three minutes later there was a shout.

"Look here, you policeman, and you, Caister, you shall pay dearly for this night's work. I swear it, and Bill Fothergill never forgets his word in that way. It's your turn, this time. It will be mine the next, and when it is, take care."

The only reply was a shot from Reuben, aimed in the direction from which the voice came. A minute later there was a trampling of horses.

"They are gone!" Shillito exclaimed.

"Perhaps it is only a trick, to draw us out," Dick suggested.

"No, I don't think it's that," Reuben said. "They are not strong enough to send a party off, and to attack us with the rest. No, I think they have gone. They know that we can't follow them.

"They have taken good care of that," he added bitterly, as he glanced at the stables, which were now a sheet of flame. "However, we will look round and see."

The three men descended to the room below and, being joined by the two hands, removed the furniture piled against the door, and threw it open.

"We mustn't go round to that side of the house, so as to get into the glare of the fire, till we have looked round," Reuben said. "I believe they are all gone; but they may have left a couple of them lurking, somewhere about, to pick us off when we show in the light.

"I will take one of your hands, Caister, and scout round on one side. Do you three go the other side."

A quarter of an hour later the two parties met near the stables, where the fire was now burning low. The roof had fallen in, and only some of the uprights were erect, with flicking flames licking them as they stood glowing above the mass of still blazing debris.

"I wonder whether that poor fellow is under that?" Reuben said.

"I hope not, indeed. I fancy he must have got away. He might have slipped off when they first rode up. He may be hiding somewhere round, afraid to come near till he knows how matters have turned out."

So saying, he gave a loud cooey. They stood silent for a minute, but no answer came back.

"There is nothing to be done, till morning," Dick said, "and it's no use hanging about here. Before it gets light I will start for Watson's. There are two of your men there; and they, with the two Watsons and ourselves, can set out after these fellows, if you are agreeable. That is, as soon as we get hold of some horses."

"I hardly think I shall be justified in taking you," Reuben said, as he walked back towards the house. "These scoundrels are all armed to the teeth, and they are first-rate shots. They know every foot of the country, and against anything like equal numbers they would make a desperate fight of it, even if they did not thrash us. Of course, in anything like an equal number of my own men I should not hesitate, but I don't think it will be fair for you settlers to undertake such a service as that."

"Listen!" Shillito exclaimed, "they are coming back again."

Surely enough, on the night air the sound of horses, galloping at full speed, could be heard.

"I don't think it can be them," Reuben said. "They would have no motive in coming back, after they once rode off. They would know we should be ready for them."

"I don't see who else it can be. At any rate, all our guns are loaded; and if it is them, all the better."

Suddenly a loud cooey was heard.

"That's Jim!" Reuben exclaimed. "I should know his call among a thousand. He must have made off to get help at once, but I don't know how he can have done it in time."

"Why, it's the Watsons and my men!" he exclaimed, as the party rode up into the light.

"All safe?" one of the settlers cried, as he jumped from his horse.

"All safe, thank God," Reuben replied. "Did Jim bring you news that we were attacked?"

"Yes; fortunately we were sitting up late, talking, when he rode up; so there was not a minute lost."

"Rode up!" Reuben repeated, in surprise; "why, where did you get a horse, Jim?"

"Rode master's horse," Jim said.

"What!" Reuben exclaimed in delight, "what, is Tartar safe? I was afraid his body was under those ruins. Why, how did you get him out?"

"Jim was in de stable, sah, when bush ranger ride up. De horses was stamping, and I not hear dem till dey come quite close, den it was too late to run out.

"De moment dat dey began to make bobbery at door, I opened stable door and bring out de three horses."

"What! Did you get mine out, too?" Dick shouted. "Jim, you are a trump, and no mistake."

"Den," Jim went on, paying no attention to the interruption, "me led de other two hosses little way, and let them go loose, sure not go far from home; and I jump on Tartar, and ride like de debel to Watson's for de police."

"Well done, Jim. You have done capitally. Now let us talk over what we had better do."

The party re-entered the house. Fresh wood was thrown on to the fire, and one of Dick's hands proceeded to put food on the table, and prepare tea, while the others consulted what course should be pursued.

It was agreed, at once, that more aid would be necessary, before they could think of attacking the bush rangers; but all were ready to join in the hunt for them. Therefore it was decided that Dick Shillito and the two Watsons should each ride, at once, to neighbouring stations to bring aid. At one of the stations two more policemen would be found, and as in the pursuit they should probably pass near other stations, their numbers would swell as they went. When this was settled, the party sat down to the meal.

"How did you come upon them, Shillito?" Caister asked.

"I had been spending the day with the Wilkinsons. I did not start to ride home till it was rather late, and I was riding fast when, about a quarter of a mile before I got to my place, I rode right into the middle of a lot of men on horseback. They evidently hadn't heard me coming, and were as much surprised as I was.

"There was a general shout of 'Bail up!' and I saw at once what sort of gentry they were. However, I didn't stop, but in the confusion dashed through.

"A few shots were fired at me. I suppose they were too surprised to aim straight. Then they started off after me. I knew it was no use making for home, for there was only one man there; so I swept round and made for your place. My horse is a good one, you know, and I gained on them all except one man, who must have been capitally mounted, for he gradually crept up to me. He wasn't twenty yards behind me when he shouted:

"'Stop, or I fire!'

"I pulled straight up and, as he came up to me, let fly at him. He tumbled off his horse, and I galloped off till I got here."

"What has become of your horse, I wonder?"

"I gave him a cut with my whip, as I jumped off. He cantered away. Of course they may have caught him, but I don't think it's likely."

"You will find him somewhere about at daylight, I expect. I will ride Caister's spare horse, now."

For Jim, with one of the hands, had gone out to fetch in the two horses from the spot where they had been turned loose.

Chapter 14: An Unexpected Meeting.

As soon as it was light the party were assembled and started, Jim leading the way, at a swinging pace which kept the horses going at a hand canter. The marks were, for a time, perfectly easy to follow. Five miles on the tracks led to a shepherd's hut. At their call, the man came out.

"You had a visit from bush rangers last night?"

"What if I did?" the man replied gruffly. "I can't help where the bush rangers pay their visits. Yes, they came in here and said they wanted some supper; and you may guess I did not keep them waiting long, for they were not in a particularly good temper. From what they said, three of their men had been killed."

This was already known to the party, as Jim had found three bodies at a short distance from the house. Two of these had evidently been carried there from the back window, where they had been killed in trying to effect the entry. The other had been shot when approaching to fire the house.

"The captain of the gang was terrible put out, and was a-cussing and swearing as to what he would do to those as did it. I wouldn't be in their shoes, if they were to fall into his hands."

"They didn't say anything which would give you an idea as to the direction they were taking?"

"Not they," the man replied. "You don't suppose they would be such fools as that and, if they had, you don't suppose as I should be such a fool to split on 'em. Not likely. I ain't no desire to wake up, one night, and find the door fastened outside and the thatch on fire."

"We may as well ride on," Reuben said. "We shall learn nothing here. The fellow is a ticket-of-leave man, and as likely as not in league with these scoundrels.

"I wonder what they came here for," he added, as they started again.

"I tell you, sah," Jim said. "Dat fellow has driven his herd ober their trail—all stamped out—no saying where they hab gone to."

"We must follow the herd, then," Reuben said. "If we look sharp, we ought to be able to see the traces where they left them."

Jim shook his head.

"No find," he said decidedly "Plenty places where de ground am berry hard, and horse feet no show. Dey choose some place like dat and turn off; perhaps put rug under horses' feet, so as to make no mark. Me sarch, sah. Jim look him eyes very hard, but tink no find."

And so, to their great disappointment, it turned out. They followed the tracks of the herd three miles, until they came upon them, quietly grazing; but nowhere could they see any trace of a party of horsemen turning off. All the party were greatly vexed at the ill success of their expedition; for all had hoped that they were, at last, going to overtake the gang who had done such mischief in the colony.

Reuben was especially disgusted. He had, only the day before, received a letter from his chief acknowledging the receipt of his report describing the pursuit of the blacks, and congratulating him warmly upon his success. The letter ended:

"If you can but give as good an account of the bush rangers, we shall be indeed grateful to you. As it is, you have more than justified my selection of you for the post."

Leaving two constables as guards, at Dick Caister's station; in case, as was probable enough, the bush rangers should return to take revenge for the repulse they had experienced there; Reuben rode back to his headquarters, from which he had now been absent some time. The evening after his return, he called Jim into his room.

"Jim," he said, "I want your advice as to the best way of finding out where these bush rangers are quartered. How do you think we had better set about it? Would it be of any use, do you think, for you to go among the natives and try and find out? There is no doubt they know, for they have often acted with the bush rangers. Do you think you could pass among them?"

"No, sah," Jim said at once. "Me no speak deir way. Me understand black fellow, me talk dar language, but not same way. They find out difference directly and kill me. De wild black fellows hate those who hab lived wid de white men. We hate dem just de same way. We say dem bad black fellow, dey say we no good."

"But those rascally trackers who led us wrong, that day of the fight, they were friendly with them."

"Yes, sah, but dey not so very long away from the bush, and always keep friends wid the others. Meet dem and talk to dem, and tell dem dey set the white men on wrong tracks."

"Well, Jim, but could not you do the same?"

"No good, sah. Me brought up among de whites, eber since me little boy. Dey not believe me if I go and say dat to dem. Jim ready to get killed, if de captain want him; but no good at all him getting killed in dat way."

"I don't want you to get killed in any way, Jim, and if that's your opinion about it, we will give up the plan at once. Can you think of any other way?"

"Me tink a lot about him. Me know de captain want very much to catch dose fellows, but Jim no see how dat can be done, for sure. But de best plan me can see is for Jim to go out by himself, and search de country outside white man's bounds. If he find de track of horses, he follow dem up. Me know about de way dey ride off after dey be killing people at de stations. If Jim look, and look, and look berry sharp he find dar track for sure; and once he find dem, he follow dem up. Must be water, for sure, where dey live. Dat good guide to begin with.

"But captain must not hurry; Jim may be long time before he find dem, dar no saying how long. Captain wish Jim to go?"

"Well, Jim, I don't want you to go; that is to say, I should miss you very much; but if you could find out the haunts of these scoundrels, you would be doing me a very great service, as well as the people of all the stations."

"Jim no care about oder people," the black said. "He care for de captain, and will go out and try and find tracks."

"Be careful, Jim, and don't get into trouble with them. If you were to fall into their hands, and they were to find out you were connected with the police, they would shoot you like a dog."

"Dey won't find out. White man not understand. Black fellow all one to him. You hab no fear for Jim. Who look after hoss, while Jim away?"

"I shall appoint one of the policemen as my orderly, Jim, and he will look after him."

Jim made a contemptuous gesture, to signify that he had little confidence in the power of any white man to look after Tartar. For the rest of the evening Jim was occupied in cooking, and in the morning he was gone.

A week later, Reuben was among the outlying stations again. He had heard nothing of the bush rangers, and no fresh attacks had been made by them, since that upon Dick Caister's station.

One evening, just as he had gone up to bed, he was roused by a sharp knocking at the door of the house in which he was stopping. The settlers had grown cautious now, and an upper window was opened, and Reuben heard the questions, "Who is there?" and "What is it?"

"Is Captain Whitney here?"

"Yes, do you want him?"

"Yes, I want to see him directly."

In a minute, Reuben had opened the door.

"I am Captain Whitney," he said. "What is it?"

"I am glad I have found you, sir. They told me at the next station you were here yesterday, but they did not know whether you were here now.

"Well, sir, I am shepherding some twenty miles away; and this afternoon, just as I had got back to my hut, in runs a black fellow. It is a lonely spot, and I reached for my gun, thinking there was more of them, when he said:

"'No shoot, me friend. Me sarve Captain Whitney of de police. You know him?'

"I said I had heard your name.

"'You know where he is?' the black asked.

"I said I did not know for certain; but that when my mate went in for grub, two days before, he had heard say that you had been along there that morning.

"The black said: 'Good. You run and find him.'

"'Thank you,' says I. 'What for?'

"'I find out about the bush rangers,' he said. 'You go and tell captain dat, tomorrow morning before de day begins, dey attack the station of Donald's.'

"'Are you quite sure?' says I.

"'Quite sure,' says the black. 'Me heard dem say so.'

"So as I hates the bush rangers like poison, I saddles up and rides into the station; and when I had told the boss, he said I better ride and find you, if I could. You would be at one of the stations this way. I stopped at three of them, and at the last they told me you was here."

"Thank you greatly, my good fellow. Donald's! I don't know the name. Where do they live?"

"They have only been here a couple of months," Reuben's host, who was standing beside him, replied. "They bought that station of Anderson's. He was a chicken-hearted young fellow, and sold out because of the bush rangers. There is a man, his wife, and her sister, I believe. I fancy they have got a pretty fair capital. They took Anderson's stock, and have been buying a lot more. That's why the bush rangers are going to attack them."

"I thought," Reuben said, "that Anderson's was not one of the most exposed stations."

"No, that was what everyone told him, before he sold it."

"How far would you say it was from here?"

"Thirty-five miles," the settler said. "It's ten miles from Barker's, and I reckon that's twenty-five from here."

"Well, of course I shall ride at once; as there are women there, it makes the case all the more urgent. I have got my orderly, and there are two more men at the station, this side of Barker's."

"I will go, of course," Reuben's host said, "and will bring two men with me.

"You had best stop here for the night," he added, turning to the shepherd. "You have ridden pretty well thirty miles already, and that at the end of your day's work."

"Not I," the man replied. "Jim Walsh is not going to be lying in bed, with the thought of two women in the hands of them murderous bush rangers. You might lend me a fresh horse, if you have got one. If not, I must try and pick one up at one of the stations, as we go along."

"I have plenty of horses in the yard," the settler said.

"Well, let us be off as soon as possible," Reuben put in. "It's past twelve o'clock now, and we have thirty-five miles to ride, and to stop at two or three places, so we haven't a minute to lose."

In a few minutes the horses were saddled, and the six men dashed off at full gallop. At three stations, which they passed on the way to Barker's, they picked up seven more. There was but little delay as, the instant the news was told, the men hurried up, saddled their horses, and rode after the party, who pushed straight on when they had told their story. At Barker's they were joined by Barker himself, and two men. Two constables had also been picked up on the way.

The others overtook them here, and the party now numbered twenty men. There was a pause to allow all to come up, and to give the horses breathing time, for they had traversed twenty-five miles at a rapid pace, with scarce a halt.

Mrs. Barker herself prepared a meal, to which, while the horses got their breath, their riders did justice. Then they mounted again, and rode for Donald's.

"It all depends," Reuben said, "as to our being there in time, whether the man keeps a careful watch. If he does they may not attack till the doors are opened, and then make a sudden rush and catch them unawares. If, when they arrive there, they find the whole house is asleep, they may burst in at once."

"I think they will be careful," Mr. Barker said. "I know Donald is very anxious; and no wonder, with two women with him, both young and pretty—quite out of the way, indeed. In fact, he told me the first day I rode over, he had no idea of the unsettled state of the district, and wouldn't have taken the place if he had, not even if Anderson had given it as a gift; and he wrote down at once to some agent, and told him to sell the place again, for whatever he can get for it; but I expect there will be some trouble in finding a purchaser. The district here has had a bad name for some time and, if Donald had not arrived fresh from England, he must have heard of it.

"Listen! I thought I heard the sound of firing."

There was a momentary pause, but no one could hear anything. Nevertheless, they went on at redoubled speed. They were now within three miles of the station.

Suddenly, on coming over a crest, a faint light was seen ahead. It increased rapidly, and a tongue of flame leapt up.

"Come on, lads!" Reuben exclaimed. "The scoundrels are at their work."

At a hard gallop they crossed the intervening ground, until they were within half a mile of the station, from which a broad sheet of flame was leaping up. Then Reuben drew rein, for he had outridden the rest of his party, and it was important that all should ride together.

"Now," he said, when they were gathered; "let us keep in a close body.

"If they ride off as we arrive there, do you, Jones and Wilkins, stop at the station and see if you can render any help. If not, follow us at once.

"Let the rest keep on with me, straight after the bush rangers. There is already a faint light in the east. In half an hour it will be broad day so, even if they have got a start, we shall be able to follow them. Now, come on."

At the head of his party, Reuben rode at full speed down to the station. As he neared it he saw, to his satisfaction, that the flames arose from some of the outbuildings, and that the house itself was still intact; but as no firing had been heard, he hoped that it still resisted.

There was a shrill whistle, when the party approached within a hundred yards. Men were seen to dash out of the house, and to leap upon their horses.

With a shout, Reuben rode down. He did not pause for a moment, but dashed past the house in the direction in which the bush rangers had fled. They were, he knew, but a hundred yards ahead; but it was not light enough for him to see them, especially after riding through the glare of the fire. The sound of the horses' feet, however, afforded an indication; but as there was no saying in which direction they might turn, he was forced to halt, every two or three minutes, to listen.

To his mortification he found that, each time, the sound was getting more indistinct; for the speed at which they had travelled had taken so much out of the horses, that they were unable to compete with the fresher animals ridden by the bush rangers, who were all well mounted, many of the best horses in the district having been stolen by them. At last the sound could be heard no longer, and Reuben was reluctantly obliged to give the order to halt; for he feared he might override the trail.

"It is no use," he said, as he reined in his horse. "They will know as well as we do that they are out of hearing now, and might turn off anywhere. It is terribly annoying. We are too late to save the station, and the bush rangers have escaped.

"However, we will take up their trail as soon as it is daylight. Indeed, I am expecting every moment to be joined by Jim, who is sure to be somewhere near, and can perhaps guide us direct to their hiding place."

Deeply disappointed, the party dismounted from their horses.

"The scoundrels must have had someone on the watch," Reuben said, "or they would never have taken the alarm so soon. I am sorry, now, that we did not send a party round to the other side before we charged down upon them; but my blood was on fire at the sight of the burning station, and at the thought of the women in the hands of those scoundrels."

A minute later, a man rode up at full speed from behind.

"Is that you, Jones?" Reuben said, stepping forward.

"Yes, sir," the man replied, reining in his horse. "I left Wilkins behind, and rode on to tell you what had happened."

"What has happened, Jones?"

"It's a bad business, sir, a shocking bad business; but it might have been worse. It seems they broke in about half an hour before we got there. One of the hands was supposed to be on watch in the stockyard; but either he was asleep, or they crept up to him and killed him before he could give the alarm. Then they got up to the house and burst in the door, before the others were fairly awake.

"They shot the two hands at once; but I suppose, as their blood wasn't up, and no resistance was offered, they thought they had plenty of time for fooling; for they must have reckoned that no force they need be afraid of could be got together, for three or four hours. So they made Donald and his wife and sister get breakfast for them. The women, it seemed had got pistols, and both swore they would blow out their brains if any man laid a hand on them. However, the bush rangers did not touch them, though they told them they would have to go off with them.

"They made Donald sit down at one end of the table, while their captain took the other; and the two women, half dressed as they were, waited on them. It was lucky for them that we were so close when the alarm was given, for all made a rush to get to their horses; only the captain stopping a moment, to let fly at Donald."

"Did he kill him?" Reuben asked.

"No, sir, the bullet hit him in the body, and the ladies were crying over him when I went in, thinking he was dead. I thought so, too, but I found he was breathing. They poured some brandy down his throat, and presently he opened his eyes; then, as there was nothing for me to do, I thought I had best gallop on and give you the news, for I knew that you would be anxious to know what had taken place."

"Thank you, Jones, you did quite right. What an escape those poor ladies have had! Another quarter of an hour, we might have been too late, for those villains would not have kept up the farce long."

"No, sir, especially as they were drinking wine. The table was all covered with bottles."

"You did not see anything of Jim, did you?" Reuben inquired.

"No, sir, I did not see or hear anyone stirring about the place."

Reuben gave a loud cooey.

"That will bring him, if he is anywhere within hearing."

But no answering call came back.

"I hope nothing has happened to the poor fellow," Reuben said, after a pause.

"He could not possibly be here by this time," Mr. Barker said. "The place where he warned the shepherd must be sixty miles from here."

"Yes, quite that; but he can run nearly as fast as a horse can go, and he would be ten miles nearer here, in a straight line, than the way the man went round to fetch me."

As soon as it became light they followed the track, which was plainly visible; but when they had gone half a mile further, there was a general cry of dismay—the ground was trampled in every direction.

"Confound it," Mr. Barker said, "they have done us! Do you see, they have ridden right into the middle of a large herd of cattle, and have driven them off in every direction; and have, no doubt, themselves scattered among the cattle. They may go like that for three or four miles, and then draw off from the cattle at any spot where the ground is hard, and no tracks will be left; to meet again at some appointed place, maybe fifty miles away."

"Then you don't think it's any use in pursuing them?" Reuben asked, in a tone of deep disappointment.

"Not a bit in the world," Mr. Barker replied decisively. "If we had a native tracker with us, he might possibly follow one horse's track among those of all the cattle, discover where he separates from them, and take up his trail; but I doubt, even then, if he would be successful. These fellows know that a strong party is in pursuit of them, and each of them will do everything they can to throw us off the scent. They are sure not to go straight to their place of meeting, but each will take circuitous routes, and will make for thick bush, where it will be next to impossible for even a native to follow them. No, they have done us, this time."

"Well, gentlemen, I hope you will all wait as long as you can at the station here. If my boy has not been shot by those scoundrels, he is sure to find his way here; and will be able, in all probability, to set us on the right track.

"At any rate, though the bush rangers have given us the slip, we may congratulate ourselves on our morning's work. We have at least saved those poor ladies."

So saying, Reuben turned and, with the party, rode slowly back to the station. On arriving there, they dismounted and unsaddled their horses, and turned them into a paddock close to the house, to feed. Reuben and Mr. Barker then went up to the house. The constable who had been left behind came out.

"Well, Wilkins, how is Mr. Donald, and how are the ladies?"

"He is sensible now, sir; but I don't think there's much chance for him."

"We ought to get a surgeon, at once," Reuben said.

"Who is the nearest, Mr. Barker?"

"The nearest is Ruskin."

"Is there no one nearer than that?" Reuben asked. "Why, he lives about halfway between where I was sleeping last night, and my own place. It must be seventy miles away."

"He's the nearest," Mr. Barker said; "take my word for it."

"I'll tell you what will be the best plan," Reuben's host of the night before said. "I will ride at once to Mr. Barker's and, if he will let me get a fresh horse there, I will gallop straight back to my place, and will send a man off the moment I arrive there to fetch Ruskin.

"It is only eight o'clock now. I can be home before noon, and my man will do the next stage in a little over four hours. If he finds Ruskin in, he can get to my place by ten o'clock at night, and can start again at daybreak; so by eleven o'clock tomorrow he can be here. If he isn't here by that time, it will be because he was out when my man got there. At any rate, he is sure to start directly he gets the message."

"That will be the best plan," Reuben agreed; "and I am sure the ladies will be greatly obliged to you, when I tell them what you have undertaken."

"Oh, that's nothing," the settler said. "We don't think much of a seventy miles' ride, here."

Without any further delay, the settler saddled his horse and went off at a gallop towards Mr. Barker's, where he was to get a fresh mount.

"And now, how are the ladies, Wilkins?"

"They are keeping up bravely, sir. I think, as far as they are concerned, Donald's being hit has done them good. It has given them something to do, and they have not had time to think about what they have gone through, and what a narrow escape they have had."

"Which room are they in, Wilkins?"

"In there to the left, sir."

"As you have seen them, Wilkins, you had better go in and tell them that we have sent off, at once, to fetch a surgeon; and that they may rely upon his being here some time tomorrow, we hope before noon. Ask if there is anything that we can do for them, or for Mr. Donald."

The policeman went in, and Reuben called one of his other men.

"Perkins, do you, Jones, and Rider go in and fetch out the bodies of the men who have been killed. Don't make more noise than you can help about it. Carry them out to that shed there, and then get a bucket and wash down the floors, wherever there are bloodstains about. I want to have the place straight, so that those poor ladies may avoid seeing anything to recall the scene they have passed through. Of course, you won't go into the room where they are now."

Three or four of the settlers at once volunteered to set to work to dig a grave.

"Choose a place a bit away from the house," one of them said. "The farther, the better; it will remind them of this affair, whenever they see it."

While Reuben was arranging this point, the constable had come out and told Mr. Barker the ladies would be glad to see him.

"It's a terrible business," the settler said to Reuben, as he turned to go into the house. "I feel downright afraid of facing them. To think how bright and pretty they looked, when I rode over here ten days ago; and now there they are, broken hearted."

He returned in a few minutes.

"How is Donald?" was the general question.

"He is hard hit," the settler said, "just under the ribs on the right-hand side. I expect the fellow aimed at his head, but he was starting from his seat at the moment. He isn't in much pain. I have told them they must keep him perfectly quiet, and not let him move till the surgeon comes.

"They have asked me to see about everything. It's better we should not be going in and out of the house, as he must be kept perfectly quiet; so I think we had better establish ourselves under that big tree over there. There are some sheep half a mile over that rise, if two of you will go over, kill one and fetch it in. If you will light a fire under that tree, I will hand out from the house flour, tea, sugar, and some cooking things."

There was a general murmur of approval, for all felt silent and awed at being so close to the house of death and sorrow. Two men got their horses, and rode off to fetch the sheep. The others carried the various articles requisite up to the place fixed for the bivouac, while Wilkins was installed in the house, to assist in anything that might be required there.

"The poor things told me to tell you, captain, how grateful they felt to you for the exertions you have made. I told them how it was we came to be here; and how you had ridden, when you got the news, to be here in time. Mrs. Donald did not say much, poor thing, she seemed half dazed; but her sister, who seems wonderfully cool and collected, quite realized what they had escaped; and there's many a young fellow who would give a good deal, to win that look of gratitude she gave me when she said:

"'I shall never forget what I owe you all.'

"I am just going to send off one of my men, to fetch my wife over here. It will be a comfort to the two girls, for they are little more, to have a woman with them."

"There's nothing to be done for Donald, I suppose?" Reuben asked.

"Nothing. The wound is hardly bleeding at all. I told them that, as far as I knew, the best thing was to keep on it a flannel dipped in warm water, and wrung out; and that they should give him a little broth, or weak brandy and water, whenever he seemed faint. My surgery does not go beyond that. If it had been a smashed finger, or a cut with an axe, or even a broken limb, I might have been some good; for I have seen plenty of accidents of all kinds, since I came out twenty years ago, but a bullet wound in the body is beyond me, altogether."

After the meal was cooked and eaten, there was a consultation as to what had best be done next. Two or three of the settlers who were married men said that they would go home, as their wives would be anxious about them. The rest agreed to stop for, at any rate, another day.

Mr. Barker had found out from Mrs. Donald's sister the direction in which the sheep and cattle were grazing, and two or three of the party rode off to tell the shepherds and herdsmen—for there were three men on the farm, in addition to those who had been killed—what had happened; and to tell them that they had better bring the sheep and cattle up to within a mile or so of the house, and come in themselves for their stores, when required.

A grave was now dug, and the three men buried. In the afternoon Mrs. Barker arrived, and at once took charge of the affairs of the house. In the evening Mr. Barker came up to the fire round which the men were sitting.

"Will you come down to the house, Captain Whitney? The ladies have expressed a wish to see you. They want to thank you for what you have done."

"There is nothing to thank about," Reuben said. "I only did my duty as a police officer, and am disgusted at those scoundrels having got away. I have done all I could, since I arrived; but I can't help feeling, being in command of the force here, that we are to some extent to blame for these fellows carrying on, as they have done for months, without being caught."

"I think you had better come down, Whitney," Mr. Barker said. "There is something bright and hopeful about you, and I think that a talk with you might cheer the poor things up a bit. When people are in the state they are, they seem to turn to everyone for a gleam of hope, and comfort."

"Oh, if you think I can do any good, of course I will go; though I would rather stop here, by a good way."

So saying, Reuben went down with Mr. Barker to the house. A lady met them at the door.

"Arthur has just dozed off," she whispered. "Mrs. Barker is sitting by him. She insisted on our coming out. Will you come in here?"

As silently as possible, the two men followed her into the kitchen, and closed the door after them. The fire was blazing brightly, Wilkins having piled on some fresh logs before going out to smoke a pipe. Mrs. Donald was sitting in a dejected attitude, by its right, when her sister entered with Mr. Barker and Reuben. She rose and, coming towards Reuben, said:

"How can we thank you, sir, for the exertions you have made, and for having saved us from I dare not think what fate? As long as we live, my sister and I will bless you."

"I can assure you, Mrs. Donald," Reuben said, "that I have done nothing but my duty, and I only regret that we did not arrive half an hour earlier."

"Ah, if you had!" Mrs. Donald said. "But there—we must not repine—even in my sorrow, I feel how much we have to be thankful for."

"Yes, indeed," her sister said, "we have truly reason to be grateful."

As she spoke, Reuben looked at her more and more intently. He had started when she first spoke, outside the house.

"Good heavens!" he exclaimed, "is it possible, or am I dreaming? Surely you are Miss Kate Ellison?"

"Certainly I am," she said in surprise, at his tone; "but I don't think—I don't remember—why, surely it is not Reuben Whitney?"

Chapter 15: At Donald's.

It is difficult to say whether Kate Ellison, or Reuben Whitney was the most surprised at this unexpected meeting. The former, indeed, was aware that Reuben had come out to Australia; but that the boy, whose cause she had championed, should now stand before her as the officer, to whose energy and activity she and her sister owed so much, seemed almost incredible.

But the surprise of Reuben was at least equal to that which she felt. He could scarcely credit the evidence of his senses, at seeing before him the young lady whom he had believed to be thousands of miles away, in England. As is usual in these cases, the girl was the first to recover from her surprise.

"And it is to you we owe so much!" she said, holding out her hand. "Mr. Barker spoke of our preserver as Captain Whitney; but somehow it never, for a moment, occurred to me to connect the name with you.

"Is it not extraordinary, Alice?" she said, turning to her sister.

"The surprise to me is even greater than to you, Miss Ellison," Reuben said. "Mr. Barker always spoke of Mrs. Donald and her sister, and I had not the least idea that you were in the colony. My mother wrote to me, a year ago, telling me of the changes which have taken place; but although she said that you had left Tipping, she said nothing about your coming out here."

Reuben had, in fact, been much disturbed in his mind, a year previously, by hearing from his mother that Mr. Ellison had died suddenly. He had, it seemed, lost a large sum of money, from the failure of a bank in which he was a shareholder, and the blow had killed him. The estate was, when Mrs. Whitney wrote, for sale.

Reuben had written back, begging his mother to send him all particulars that she could gather; but communication between Australia and England was in those days very slow, and no answer had yet been received. Another letter had, indeed, told him that the estate had been sold. Mrs. Ellison, he knew, had died a few weeks after he had left England.

"It is very simple," Kate Ellison said quietly; "although of course it seems so strange to you, our being here. My sister was engaged to Mr. Donald before papa's death and, as you know, almost everything went owing to that bank; and as I had no reason for staying in England, I came out here with them."

Reuben subsequently learned that Mr. Ellison had disapproved of the engagement of his daughter with Mr. Donald, who was the younger son of a neighbouring squire. When, after his death, Mr. Ellison's affairs were wound up, it was found that there remained only the six thousand pounds, which his wife had brought him, to be divided between her daughters. Mr. Donald possessed no capital, and had no prospects at home. He and Alice were quietly married, three months after her father's death, and had sailed a week later for New South Wales; where, as land could be taken up at a nominal price, it was thought that her little fortune would be ample to start them comfortably. All this, however, Reuben did not learn until some time later.

After chatting for a short time, he returned to the camp fire.

"This is very awkward, Mr. Barker," Mrs. Donald said; "do you know that Captain Whitney was, at one time, gardener's boy to our father?"

"Oh, Alice!" her sister exclaimed, "what difference can that make?"

"It seems to me," Mrs. Donald said, "that it makes a very great difference. You know mamma never thought well of him, and it is very awkward, now, finding him here in such a position; especially as he has laid us under an obligation to him.

"Do you not think so, Mr. Barker?"

"I do not pretend to know anything about such matters, Mrs. Donald," Mr. Barker said bluntly; "and I shouldn't have thought it could have made any difference to you, what the man was who had saved you from such a fate as would have befallen you, had it not been for his energy. I can only say that Captain Whitney is a gentleman with whom anyone here, or in the old country, would be glad to associate. I may say that when he came here, three or four months ago, my friend Mr. Hudson—one of the leading men in the colony—wrote to me, saying that Captain Whitney was one of his most intimate friends, that he was in every respect a good fellow, and that he himself was under a lifelong obligation to him; for he had, at the risk of his life, when on the way out, saved that of his daughter when she was attacked by a mad Malay at the Cape.

"More than that, I did not inquire. It was nothing to me whether he was born a prince, or a peasant."

Mrs. Donald coloured hotly, at the implied reproof of Mr. Barker's words. She had always shared her mother's prejudices against Reuben Whitney, and she had not been long enough, in the colony, to become accustomed to the changes of position which are there so frequent.

"You do not understand, Mr. Barker," she said pettishly. "It was not only that he was a boy employed in the family. There were other circumstances—"

"Oh, Alice!" Kate broke out, "how can you speak of such things? Here are we at present, owing more than our lives to this man, and you are going now to damage him by raking up that miserable old story.

"Mr. Barker," she said impulsively, "my father, one of the most just, as well as one of the most kind of men, had the highest opinion of Reuben Whitney; believe me, there was nothing in the circumstances to which Alice alludes which could cast the slightest slur upon his character."

"I feel certain of that, my dear young lady," Mr. Barker said, "even without your assurance. Your sister is shaken by the events of the day, and no wonder; and I am quite sure that when she thinks this matter over she will see that, whatever her preconceived ideas may be, it would be most ungrateful and ungenerous to breathe a single word in disparagement of Captain Whitney."

So saying, he turned on his heel and left the room; and Kate, wishing to avoid further words on the matter with her sister, followed his example.

Mrs. Donald's reflections were not pleasant. She felt that Mr. Barker's reproof was well deserved, and that she had acted ungratefully and ungenerously. As a rule, Mr. Ellison's elder daughter was by no means of an unkind disposition; but she was essentially her mother's child.

The question of Reuben Whitney had been one which had caused more serious dissension, between her father and mother, than any she ever remembered. She had taken her mother's view of the case, while Kate had agreed with her father; and although the subject had been dropped, by mutual consent, it had been a very sore one; and at the sight of Reuben, the remembrance of the old unpleasantness had caused her to play a part which she could not but feel was mean and unworthy. She felt angry at herself—angry with Mr. Barker, with her sister, and with Reuben.

She was standing there, with her lips pressed together as she thought over the matter, when Mrs. Barker came into the room.

"He is awake now, my dear. Perhaps you had better go in to him."

Then she dismissed from her mind the events of the last few minutes, and went in to take her place by the side of her husband. But as, during the long hours of the night, she sat there and thought over what had passed since the preceding evening, the thought of how much she owed to Reuben Whitney was uppermost in her mind; and when in the morning Mrs. Barker relieved her, she went into the other room, where Mr. Barker and Kate were about to sit down to breakfast, and said:

"Mr. Barker, I thank you for what you said to me last night. You were right and I was wrong. I was ungrateful, and ungenerous. I can only say that it was a very sore subject, and that in my surprise I thought of the past, and not the present. Believe me, I am very sorry for what I said."

"That is quite enough, Mrs. Donald," Mr. Barker said heartily. "I am very glad you have said what you have. I was sure that you would, upon reflection, feel that whatever the old grievance might have been, it could not weigh an instant against what you owe to that young fellow now. Let us say no more on the subject. You were shaken and not yourself, and I was wrong in taking you up so sharply, under the circumstances."

Kate said nothing, but her face showed that she was greatly pleased at her sister's change of tone.

"What is going to be done, Mr. Barker?" Mrs. Donald asked. "Of course, the friends who came to our rescue cannot stay here; and there is no chance of my husband being moved, for a long time."

"I am afraid not, indeed," Mr. Barker said. "Most of them will leave this afternoon, in time to get back to their stations tonight.

"I have been speaking with Captain Whitney, and he says that he with his men will certainly stay here, for the present.. He sent off a messenger, last night, for six more of his men to join him here; for he still hopes to get news from his native boy, which may set him on the tracks of the bush rangers. You need, however, be under no alarm; for I think there is no chance, whatever, of the bush rangers returning.

"By the way, Whitney would like to speak to you, after breakfast. He wants you to give him as minute a description as you can of the fellows you saw. We have already descriptions of four or five of them, given by men whom they have stuck up; but the band must have increased lately, and any particulars might be useful."

Reuben came round in a quarter of an hour later. Mr. Barker fetched him into the room where Mrs. Barker and Kate were sitting.

"Mr. Donald is no worse, I am glad to hear," he said, as he shook hands with the two ladies.

"I see no change whatever," Mrs. Barker said. "He is conscious, but does not speak much. He asked me, this morning, to tell you and all your friends how deeply he feels indebted to you."

"His thanks are due to the settlers, rather than to me, Mrs. Barker. They were volunteers, you know, while I was simply on duty. We had, however, one common interest—to get here in time to save the station and, above all, to catch and break up this gang of scoundrels.

"And now, Miss Ellison, if you feel equal to it, would you kindly give us an account of what happened? Mr. Barker said that he would not ask you, yesterday; but something, perhaps, let drop by chance, might serve as an indication to us as to the direction in which these fellows have gone."

"I will tell you, certainly," the girl said, her face paling a little; "although it is dreadful, even now, to think of. We of course had no idea of attack, and had gone to bed as usual. One of the men was always on guard, on the outside of the house; for these attacks made Mr. Donald nervous for the safety of my sister, and myself. Simpson was on guard that night. Whether he went to sleep or not, I cannot say."

"He did, Miss Ellison," Reuben interrupted. "We found his body round by the end of the house. He had evidently been sitting down on a log, against the house; and had been killed by a crushing blow with some heavy instrument, probably one of the tools they used for breaking in."

"The first we knew about it," Kate went on, "was a tremendous crash downstairs, which was followed by a continuous thundering noise. I think they must have burst the door in with crowbars, or something—that was the first noise we heard—but a strong wooden bar, inside, kept the door in its place till they battered it down with a log.

"I hurried on some things. Just as I had done—it was not a minute, I think, from the time I woke—Alice ran in, partly dressed, too. I had heard Mr. Donald shout to the men, then there was another great crash as the bar gave way, and then some shots were fired.

"Mr. Donald had been standing just behind the door, and had fired through it the moment before it gave way. He had not time to step back, and was knocked down by the door. It was fortunate for him, for the bush rangers rushed in and shot down the two men, instantly.

"Alice would have run down to see what had happened to her husband, but I would not let her out of my room. She could have done no good, and might have been shot. Then we heard them moving about the house, swearing and using all sorts of horrible language. Then they shouted up to us to come down, or else they would come and fetch us; so we opened the door, and came down at once.

"Alice gave a little cry of joy, as she entered the room and saw her husband standing unhurt, though still looking dazed and confused from his blow.

"The leader of the band—I suppose you have not seen him, Captain Whitney?"

"No, indeed," Reuben said "I would give a good deal to catch sight of him."

"What do you know about him?"

"I only know that he is a young fellow, not much older than I am myself. His was a life sentence. He was concerned in a burglary in the country, in which two old ladies were killed. Two of his accomplices were hung for it, but in consideration of his youth, and as it was not proved that he took an absolute part in the murder, he got off with a life sentence. I heard about the case from Captain Wilson.

"He came out here about a year after I did. He had not been here a month when he killed one of the guard, and made his escape. Since that time he has been a scourge to the colony. Not a week has passed without complaints of his bailing up and robbing teamsters on their way down to Sydney. He soon gathered two or three others about him, and his daring and impudence soon made him a noted character. Several times he, with two other men, rode into good-sized villages and, pistol in hand, went from house to house, and carried off every shilling in the place. He has ridden into large stores single handed, and compelled the storekeepers to hand over the contents of their tills. Sometimes they bring spare horses with them, and ride off laden with groceries and stores. He has committed at least a score of murders, always using his pistol at the slightest show of opposition; and sometimes murdering, apparently, from pure love of the thing."

"Do you know his name?" Kate asked.

"His real name? No, I don't know that I ever heard it. He is always spoken of as Fothergill."

"I will tell you his real name, presently," Kate said. "As my sister and I came into the kitchen, he took off his hat and made a deep bow and said:

"'Ladies, me and my mates are sorry to put you to any inconvenience; but as we happen to be hungry, we must trouble you to get us some supper. You need not bother to make tea, wine is good enough for us.'

"Of course, as we were in their hands there was nothing to do but to obey his orders; so we spread the cloth, and brought out what there was in the larder. Then we fetched in the wine, and I brought several bottles of spirits; for, as I whispered to Alice, 'If they get drunk, we may be able to get away from them.'

"Before they sat down, the captain told two of his men to go upstairs with us and fetch down our watches and jewelry, and the money there was in the house. Mr. Donald had already told them where they would find that.

"We lit four candles, and put them on the table. The captain ordered Mr. Donald to sit down facing him, saying with a sort of mock politeness that they should not really enjoy their food, unless their host took the head of the table. Several times, while they were eating, I saw the captain looking hard at Alice and me. Presently he said:

"'I have it now. Why, you are the Ellison girls, ain't you?'

"I was astonished, as you may suppose, but I said:

"'I am Miss Ellison, and Mrs. Donald is my sister.'

"'By Jove, who would have thought it!' he said. 'Do you know who I am?'

"I said I didn't, although really I seemed to have some sort of recollection of his face.

"'Why,' he said, 'don't you remember Tom Thorne, whose father the squire turned out of the public house? And to think, now, that the squire's daughters are waiting on me. This is a piece of luck.

"'Well, my dears,' he went on, with a horrible grin, 'you need not tell me how you came here now, you will have plenty of time for that. We have made up our minds to take you both with us, for it's a horrible lonely life in the bush, without the pleasure of ladies' society. But I never dreamt that I was in for such a slice of luck as this.'

"Mr. Donald jumped from his seat as the fellow spoke, but in a moment he levelled a pistol at him and shouted:

"'Sit down or I fire.'

"Alice rushed to her husband, and pushed him down into his seat.

"'I had rather die than go with you,' I said to him quietly.

"'Perhaps so, my dear,' he replied; 'but you see, you haven't got the choice.'

"Then he went on taunting us about old times, and especially reminding me that I had got him a thrashing, over breaking the school house window. When I went out to get them some more wine, for they wouldn't touch the spirits, I got a knife and hid it in my dress; for I made up my mind to kill myself, rather than that.

"A little later I stole upstairs and brought down a brace of pistols, which Mr. Donald kept under his pillow, and slipped one into Alice's hand. Presently they began to get noisy, and the captain ordered me to come and sit on his knee. Then Alice and I showed the pistols, and said we would shoot ourselves, if one of them laid a finger on us.

"The captain muttered some order to his men, which I didn't hear; but I guessed it was to leave us alone, for the present. I had no doubt what they intended to do was to catch us off our guard, and wrench the pistols from us; and I was glad I had the knife hidden away, for if they did carry us off, I was sure to be able to find some opportunity for using that.

"It was awful!" the girl said, putting her hand to her face. "Awful to be standing there and hearing them laughing and shouting and cursing. I was tempted to go behind him, and shoot him suddenly; but the others would have been just as bad, and we should have gained nothing by it. I would not go through that half hour again, for all the money in the world.

"The men had just finished and were getting up from the table, and I knew the moment was coming fast, when we heard a sudden shout outside. My heart gave a bound, as they rushed to the door. The captain fired a shot at Mr. Donald, just as he was getting up; and as he ran out, shouted to me:

"'I will come back for you, missy.'

"If it had not been for Mr. Donald falling to the ground, I should have fainted; but Alice called me as she ran to him, and I think I was trying to lift him up when the constable ran in, and I knew we were saved."

Reuben had given a sudden start, when Kate Ellison mentioned the name of Tom Thorne, but he had not interrupted her.

"I had a score against that scoundrel before," he said, as she finished; "and by heavens, I will settle accounts with him when I meet him. I could have forgiven him for the wrongs he did me; but now—" and his fingers closed on the hilt of the pistol in his belt.

Kate, who had been looking down as she told her story, raised her eyes at the tone of intense passion in the young officer's words; and a sudden flush of colour mounted into her cheeks, which were pale from the terror and excitement through which she had gone.

"I say ditto to Captain Whitney," Mr. Barker said. "I don't know anything about his previous doings against him; but I know that, if ever I come across the scoundrel, I will shoot him as a dog.

"Even you can't say anything against that, wife, though you are always on the side of mercy."

"No," Mrs. Barker agreed. "I would say nothing to stay your hand there, John. Even putting this aside, he has committed a score of murders; and there will be no more wrong, in shooting him, than there would be in killing a wild beast.

"That is the sound of a horse coming, at a gallop. Perhaps it is the doctor."

Hurrying to the door they found, to their great satisfaction, that Mrs. Barker's guess was verified. The surgeon had been at home when the messenger arrived, and had started five minutes later, arriving three or four hours earlier than they had even ventured to hope.

Mrs. Barker at once led the way into the next room and, a few minutes later, came out again for hot water and sponges. Kate had stolen away upstairs, when the surgeon had entered the house. The two men remained to hear the verdict.

"He is going to probe the wound. He can give no opinion, yet, till he discovers what course it has taken; but he says that it is a favourable symptom that the pulse is so strong and regular. He wishes you both to come in, as it will be necessary to hold his patient's hands, while he is making the examination."

"I cannot give any positive opinion," the surgeon said, when he had finished the examination. "I can't find the ball, and I cannot tell for certain what course it took, after entering; but I think, judging from the pulse, and I may say from the expression of his face, that no vital part is injured."

An exclamation of thankfulness broke from Mrs. Donald.

"We must not be too sanguine," Mr. Ruskin went on; "but there is certainly strong ground for hope. I shall be able to give a more definite opinion, in the course of a few hours. He must, of course, be kept perfectly quiet; with no more nourishment than is absolutely necessary, and that in the shape of beef tea. I should make him a bed here. We will manage to slide a door under him, and lift him on to it, with as little movement as possible.

"At any rate, madam," he said, turning to Mrs. Donald, "I can congratulate you upon the fact that the bullet did not strike a couple of inches higher. Had it done so, my ride would have been a useless one."

A bed was at once brought from a room above and made up, and Mr. Donald was placed upon it, in the manner which Mr. Ruskin had suggested. Then with lightened hearts the party, with the exception of his wife, left the room.

Kate and Mrs. Barker at once set to to prepare a meal for the surgeon; while Reuben went over to give his companions the good news, that the surgeon had strong hopes that Mr. Donald would recover.

In the afternoon all the party, with the exception of Mr. and Mrs. Barker and the constables, rode off to their respective stations; assuring Reuben of their readiness to assemble again, at once, should he obtain news which would afford a hope that the gang could be traced.

A few hours later, the other four constables for whom Reuben had sent rode up. An outhouse was now prepared for the reception of the police, Reuben himself taking up his abode there, although Mrs. Donald strongly urged him to come into the house; but with Mr. and Mrs. Barker and the surgeon there, and the time of one of the ladies taken up with the wounded man, Reuben thought that their hands were perfectly full, and said that he should prefer to mess and sleep with his men.

"You see, Mrs. Donald," he said, as she tried to induce him to alter his determination, "I shall have to be sending out men and receiving reports, and may be obliged to ride out in the middle of the night; therefore, you see, as absolute quiet is ordered for your husband, it will be far better for me to be outside the house; as the coming and going would be sure to disturb him, and he would naturally want to know what is going on."

"You will not, I hope, take all your party away in pursuit of these men, Captain Whitney," she said anxiously. "They might get up some false alarm, to take you away, and then come down upon the house again. I have been too much taken up with my husband to think much about it; but although Kate keeps up bravely, I know that she is greatly shaken, and terribly anxious. I don't know whether she told you; but it was to her, chiefly, that horrible man spoke; and it was she he told, as he rushed out, that he would come back to fetch her. She will never have a moment's peace, or tranquillity, till we hear that he is either killed or taken."

"Nor shall I," Reuben said. "I do not think that the scoundrel will dare to attempt to carry out his threat to come back again; but with so daring a villain, it would be rash to omit the smallest precaution. You may be quite sure, Mrs. Donald, that in no case will I leave the house unprotected; and that if I should be called away I will leave two men here who, during my absence, will remain in the house; and with them, Mr. Barker, and the doctor, you may feel perfectly assured that no open attack will be made.

"But I cannot impress too strongly upon you that, seeing the man with whom we have to deal, your sister should not stir outside the house; until we have caught him, or until Mr. Donald is so far recovered as to be able to be removed. I will not tell her so myself; because I see that, now the strain is over, she is greatly shaken, and I would not add to her anxiety; but if you could break it to her, as if it were your own idea, that she had better keep within doors until this fellow's caught, I am sure that it will be well."

"You will come in this evening, I hope; and always of an evening, Captain Whitney. It will make a change, and cheer us up; besides, we want to hear all about your adventures, since we saw you last."

This Reuben gladly promised and, after it was dark, and he had placed a sentry, he came into the house. Mrs. Barker was on duty in the sick room; and Reuben, at Mrs. Donald's request, gave them an account of the voyage out, and of the circumstances which had led to his entering the police.

He would have passed very briefly over the affair at the Cape, but by many questions Mrs. Donald succeeded in eliciting from him all the details of the story.

"It was a gallant action, indeed," she said warmly. "You certainly saved the lives of those two girls, at a terrible risk of your own."

"To make the romance complete, Whitney," Mr. Barker remarked, "you ought to have married Miss Hudson."

"Unfortunately, you see," Reuben said with a smile, "in the first place I was only a boy, and she was two years my senior; in the next, and much more important place, she happened to be in love with someone else; and I did not happen to be in love with her, though she was, I admit, a very charming young lady, and had been extremely kind to me."

"How was that, Whitney?" Mr. Barker asked. "Eighteen is a susceptible age. I can only account for your coldness on the supposition that you had left your heart in England."

"I fancy my heart was, then, where it is now," Reuben rejoined, with a slight smile.

"In the right place, eh, Whitney?"

"In the right place," Reuben repeated quietly.

At this moment Mrs. Barker entered, and said that Mr. Donald would be glad if Reuben would come and sit with him, for a little time.

"Don't let him talk much," Mr. Ruskin said. "The less he talks, the better; but your talking to him, for a time, will cheer him up and do him good."

"I am glad to see you going on so well, Mr. Donald," Reuben said heartily, as he entered. "The doctor says you are not to talk much; but you are to play the part of a listener."

"Do you think you will catch these fellows?" was Mr. Donald's first question.

"I will catch them, sooner or later," Reuben said. "I will run them down if they are above ground; but I can take no steps in the matter until I hear from my black boy. I have been expecting him to turn up, ever since I got here; and shall begin to be afraid that those scoundrels have ill treated him, if he does not turn up before long."

"My wife has been telling me that they knew you at home, Whitney; and that she and her people did you some terrible injustice, somehow. But she wouldn't go into the matter. Curious, isn't it, your meeting at this end of the world; and that, too, at such a moment?"

"It is curious," Reuben said; "what people call a coincidence. But Mrs. Donald is mistaken in telling you that her people did me an injustice. Her father was one of the kindest friends I ever had, and although Mrs. Ellison somewhat misjudged me, and her daughter naturally shared her feeling, they were not in anyway to be blamed for that; for they only thought as ninety-nine people out of a hundred did."

"Whitney, Whitney," Mr. Donald muttered to himself. "I seemed to know the name, though I cannot recall where.

"Ah!" he said suddenly, "of course I remember now, for I was in the court when—" and he stopped.

"When I was tried," Reuben put in quietly. "Yes, that was me. I was acquitted, as you know, principally from the way in which Mr. Ellison stood up for me. Thank God that he never, for an instant, believed that I was guilty."

"And to think it should be you!" Mr. Donald said. "How strange things turn out! I remember I could not make up my mind about it. It seemed so strange, either way."

"We had better not talk about it now," Reuben said quietly. "I said then, and I say now, that I knew the people who did it and, strange as the circumstances have already been, you may think them stranger still, some day, if I bring one of them before you, alive or dead."

At this moment there was a knock at the door, and Mrs. Donald came in and said that one of the constabulary wished to speak to Reuben.

"Then I will say goodnight. I hope I shall find you getting on nicely, in the morning, Mr. Donald.

"Will you say goodnight to Miss Ellison and Mrs. Barker for me, Mrs. Donald? And tell Mr. Barker that I shall be ready, in five minutes, to smoke that pipe we talked about with him, outside."

Chapter 16: Jim's Report.

"Jones, what is it?"

"Your black has just come, sir. I would not let him come in; for the fact is, he ain't a figure to introduce among ladies."

"What's the matter with him, Jones? Not hurt, I hope?"

"He has been knocked about a bit, sir; and he is done up with travelling. The poor fellow can hardly crawl, and was half starved; so I set him to work eating, and came off to fetch you."

By this time they had arrived at the door of the shed. Jim was sitting by a fire, eagerly devouring a hunch of cold meat. The men were standing round, waiting till he had appeased his hunger before they asked any question. He looked up and nodded, when Reuben entered.

"Well, Jim, I am glad to see you back," Reuben said heartily. "I was beginning to be afraid about you. I hope you are not hurt?"—for the black had a handkerchief tied round his head.

Jim gave a grunt, but continued stuffing great lumps of meat into his mouth. Reuben saw that he must wait till the black's hunger was satisfied, and stood quietly looking on until, having devoured some five pounds of meat, he gave a sigh of contentment, and then took a long draught of rum and water, which Constable Jones handed to him.

"Jim better now," he said.

"That's right, Jim; now tell us all about it."

Jim's story was a long one, and it took more than an hour in the telling; for his English was not always distinct, and it often required much questioning, on Reuben's part, before he could quite make out its meaning. The substance was as follows:

On leaving, some ten days before, on the mission of discovering the haunt of the bush rangers, he knew that it was of no use to go among the wild blacks, their allies; as the hostility against their semi-civilized fellows was so great that he would, at once, have been killed. He resolved to go back to the spot where the track had been obliterated, by that of the flock of sheep; to make a wide circuit, and pick it up beyond and, if possible, follow it until he found them. The difficulties were great, for the bush rangers had spared no pains in hiding their trail; keeping always upon hard, high ground, and at one time getting into the bed of a running stream, and following it for two miles before they again struck for their rendezvous.

However, step by step Jim had tracked them; sometimes losing the trail altogether, sometimes guided merely by a fresh-made scratch on the surface of a stone, or by a broken twig or bruised blade of grass. At last, he traced it far out into the bush, many miles beyond the furthest range of settlements, and then he lost it altogether. There had been a halt, for some time, at this spot.

Beyond this, Jim was entirely at fault. He made circle after circle round the spot, but could find no trace whatever of their passage, and returned to the point where he had missed the trail. He relit the embers of the fire which the bush rangers had made, cooked some food, and laid himself down—first to think it over, then to sleep, for it was now just the close of day.

It was clear to him that here, more than anywhere else, the bush rangers had made a great effort to throw anyone who might be pursuing them off the trail. He had no doubt that the bush rangers had muffled their horses' hoofs with cloth, and had proceeded with the greatest care through the bush, so as to avoid breaking a single twig in their passage; and the only reason for such greater caution could be that it was here, and here only, that they wished to throw the pursuers off the trail. It would have seemed, to a white man, that they had done this before, especially when they had kept in the water course; but to black Jim's perception, it appeared that they had been more careless than would be expected; and that, while apparently doing their utmost to conceal their tracks, they had really left sufficient indications to allow a practised tracker to follow them.

Why then, now that they were far beyond the settlements, and fairly in the country of their native allies, should they, for the first time, so hide their trail that he could not discover it?

The result of Jim's thoughts was that, when he awoke at daybreak, he started back towards the settlements. When he came to the river which the party had passed, in pursuit of the natives, he kept along its bank, scrutinizing the ground with the greatest care. After six miles' walking he suddenly stopped, at a point where the soft turf near the margin was cut up by the passage of the party of horsemen. Here was the confirmation of his ideas.

Arguing the matter out with himself, Jim had arrived at the conclusion that, hitherto, the trail had been a false one, the bush rangers' object being to lead their pursuers to believe that they had gone far out into the native country; whereas, in fact, their hiding place was somewhere among the settlements. Should this be so, the only way to find them was to search for their back track. This he had now found and, with a shout of triumph at his own cleverness, Jim forded the river and followed the track of the horses.

This was now clear enough, the horsemen taking no pains whatever to conceal their traces, feeling perfectly confident that any pursuers must now be thrown off the scent. Jim followed it till sundown, when he had made some thirty miles; and then, withdrawing some little distance from the tracks, he made his fire and camped for the night.

He was now inside the line of the outlying stations, and had approached to the edge of a bit of wild and broken country, which offered so few inducements to settlers that it had been passed by for the better land beyond; although occasionally, when herbage was scarce, the settlers in the neighbourhood drove the animals up to feed among its hills. The black had no doubt that the gang, of which he was in pursuit, had their haunt somewhere in the heart of this wild and little-known tract.

In the morning he again started and, after travelling several miles, entered a narrow valley with very steep sides, with trees and brushwood growing wherever they could get a foothold. He now adopted a careless and indifferent carriage and, although he kept a sharp lookout, no one who saw him would have supposed that he had any particular object in view.

Presently he noticed that the tracks turned sharply off from the line he had followed, in the centre of the valley; and entered the trees, which grew thickly here at the foot of the hills. He made no halt, even for an instant, but walked straight on. Half a mile further he sat down and lit his fire, and began to cook some food. He had no doubt that he was watched for, just after he passed the point where the track turned off, he heard a very low whistle among the trees.

As he sat by the fire, he kept his back towards the direction from which he had come; and when he presently heard footsteps, no change in his attitude betrayed that he was conscious of the fact that persons were approaching him, until two men stopped beside him. Then, with a cry as of sudden alarm, he leapt to his feet.

"Lor' a mussy!" he exclaimed, "de white man frighten me bery much. What for dey no say dey come?"

"Who are you, nigger, and where do you come from, and what are you doing here?"

"My name Jim," he said; "me going tro' the country looking for place to tend hosses. Me bery good at hosses. Me look arter de hosses ob Mr. Hudson."

"What did you leave him for?" one of the men asked, sternly.

"Someting lost from de house," Jim said quietly. "Massa Hudson tink me took it. He make bobbery, so Jim ran away and look for nodder place."

"Um," the man said; "I wonder whether you are speaking the truth? If I thought you weren't, I would put a bullet through your head, in double-quick time."

"No, sah," Jim said in great terror; "dat de truth, sure 'nough. Jim try to get work at Sydney. Couldn't get; so start away, and ask at all de stations. No one want black boy for hosses, so keep on and tink dere more chance out furder. Does massa want a boy for hoss?"

"What do you think, Bill?" the man who had spoken asked his companion. "Shall we put a bullet in this fellow's head, at once, or make him useful?"

"I dussay he is a liar," the other replied; "but then all these black fellows are liars, so that does not make much difference. A black fellow would certainly be useful for the horses, and to look after the fire. We can always shoot him when we have done with him. We shall soon see, by the way he handles the horses, whether he has been accustomed to them."

"All right," the other said. "You come along with us then."

"What wages massa pay?" Jim asked.

"Anything you may be worth. Don't you fret about wages."

Jim pretended to hold out for a fixed sum; but the man said, in stern tones:

"Come along, we don't want no more jaw, so you had best hold your tongue."

No other words passed till they got back to the trees, and then turned off where the horses had previously done so. Two minutes' walk brought them to a roughly-made shed, built against the almost perpendicular side of the hill. It was built of logs, and there was nothing to show that it was inhabited. No smoke curled up from the chimney. The door and shutters were closed. Anyone who, passing through the valley, had turned among the trees and accidentally come upon it, would have taken it for some hut erected by a wood cutter.

One of the men knocked three times at the door, and it was at once opened. Jim was pushed inside, the men followed him, and the door was shut.

"Who have you got here?" a man, sitting by the side of a large fire some distance inside the cottage, asked angrily.

"It's a nigger who wants work. He says he is accustomed to horses so, as it was the choice between shooting him and bringing him here, we thought we might as well bring him to you. It would be handy to have a fellow to look after the horses, and cut the wood, and make himself useful. If we find he is of no use, there will be no great trouble in getting rid of him."

"That is true enough," the other said, "and I don't think there's much risk about it.

"Come here, you fellow, and let me look at you."

Jim stepped forward towards the fire. He saw now that the hut was built against the entrance to a cave of considerable size. In the centre was a great fire, the smoke of which probably made its way to the surface through crevices in the rock above. Four other men, besides the one who had addressed him, were lying on sheepskins against the wall. There was an opening at the further end of the cave into an inner chamber; and here Jim knew, by an occasional snort or an impatient pawing, the horses were stabled.

The chief of the party asked a few more questions as to where Jim had come from, and how he chanced to be passing through so unfrequented a country. As the black had already decided upon his story, the questions were answered satisfactory enough.

"I think he's all right," the man said, at last. "At any rate here he is, and he's not likely to go out again. We have been talking of getting a black fellow, for some time; and as here is one ready to hand, we may as well make the best of him.

"Look you here," he went on sternly, to the black; "you come of your own free will, and here you have got to stop. You will have as much to eat as you can stuff, plenty of rum to drink, and 'bacca to smoke; and if there's anything else you fancy, no doubt you can have it. Only look you, if you put your foot outside that door, unless you are ordered to do so, I will put a bullet through your black brain."

"All right," Jim said. "Plenty eat, plenty drink, plenty smoke; dat suit Jim bery well. He no want to go out of de house, if massa say no."

"That's settled then. Now, put some more logs on that fire."

Jim at once assumed his new duty, and the bush rangers, who all hated the slightest work, were soon well satisfied with their new acquisition. There were several carcasses of sheep, hanging from hooks placed in the roof, where they were slowly smoked by the fumes from the wood. A pile of logs were heaped up in one corner, and these had to be cut up into sizes and lengths suitable for the fire. At one end a space was roughly partitioned off, and this was filled with groceries, flour, and cases of wine and spirits which had been taken from waggons going up country.

In the stable were several sacks of oats; and a barrel filled with water, which was drawn from a spring, a short distance from the hut. The first time Jim went into the stable the captain accompanied him, and soon saw, by the black's handling of the horses, that his account was so far accurate, and that he was thoroughly accustomed to stable work.

The cooking was also handed over to him, and the gang passed their time in sleeping, drinking, playing cards, and discussing plans of robbery. For the first few days a sharp watch was kept up on the black, and the men went out themselves to chop wood, or bring in water when it was required. After a few days, however, they relaxed their vigilance, and Jim gradually took these tasks also upon himself.

He was perfectly aware, although he pretended to be unconscious of it, that the first few times he went out one or other of the bush rangers stole quietly after him, and watched him at work; but as nothing suspicious was observed in his conduct, this supervision was gradually given up.

"It's time to be moving again," the leader of the band said, about a week after Jim had joined them. "We settled the next job should be Donald's station. We know for certain that he generally has money by him, and there will be the watches and trinkets of the women. That fellow Thompson, who worked for them at first, says he has got a first-rate cellar of wine; and that the women were both out-and-outers. If they are as pretty as he says, we will have them here, lads, to do the housekeeping. We want something to liven us up; besides, we shall forget our company manners, if we don't get some ladies to keep us up to the mark a little."

There was a burst of coarse laughter.

"What do you say, boys; shall we start tomorrow? It's a long ride, and we had best leave about noon. We must get into the neighbourhood before dark, so as to give the horses twelve hours' rest before we begin; for we may have to ride for it.

"It ain't likely. Barker's is the nearest station, and it would be hours before they could get together men enough who would dare to follow us; but still, it's just as well to be prepared, and since that confounded new police officer has been on the station, there's never been no certainty about things. We owe him one for that last affair, which cost Smith, Wilson, and Mulready their lives; but we will pay him out yet. Who would have thought of his being there, just on that very night? I swear, if I ever catch him, I will roast him alive."

"He is no fool," one of the others said. "He gave it those black fellows hot, and no mistake. The sooner he's put out of the way, the better. He's a different sort of chap than the last fellow. I sha'n't feel comfortable till he's got either a spear or a pistol bullet in him."

Jim, who was squatting in the corner, apparently half asleep, was listening intently to every word. They did not heed his presence in the slightest; for indeed he had, since his arrival, so mixed his talk with native words that the bush rangers had no idea that he could follow their conversations.

He was thinking, now, what was his best course to adopt. In the first place, he had gathered from their talk that this was only one of their hiding places, and that they seldom stayed very long in one neighbourhood. The question, therefore, was whether they would return. It was of no use his going to give the alarm, unless he could return before his escape was suspected; or they would have made off before he could get back again.

As for the Donalds, whose station was to be attacked, it gave him no concern whatever; for the Australian blacks had little or no regard for life, except those of people to whom they were attached. It was Reuben's mission to capture the bush rangers and, had it been necessary, Jim would have remained quiet while a dozen families were slain, until he found an opportunity of bringing the police down upon them.

He listened now, intently, for any word which might afford an index to their intentions. Presently the question he hoped for came.

"I suppose you will not come back here again, Tom?"

"No, I thinks it's getting too hot to hold us, in these parts. We might ride back here, give our horses a rest, and load up with a few things we may want. We can bring two or three spare horses from Donald's. The weather is pleasant now, and we might very well put in a few weeks with the blacks. That last haul we made of traders' goods—cottons, and beads, and trumperies for the gins, and brass rings and such like for the men—will put them in the best of humours. You may be sure there will be a hot chase after us, after this business; and I should propose that we try our luck down south, for a bit."

"I agree with you," one of the others said. "We have had a very good spell here, for the last ten months; and it don't do to tempt luck too long. That losing three of our number, last week, looked as if it was going to turn."

"What's it matter?" the captain laughed. "So much the more for us to divide. We have got a goodish bit of brass, now, to say nothing of the goods we have got at each of our places. We can fill up their places easy enough, any time; and those who come in are free to their share of what there is, in the way of grub and goods, but they only share in the brass from the time they join."

Jim had heard what he wanted, and he now lay down and thought it out. They were only coming back for a short time. Possibly they might change their minds, and not return at all. It would be a risky thing to depend upon it; besides, his master might be blamed if this attack on the Donalds succeeded.

It would be better, then, to try to get word to him, in time for him to be there before the bush rangers arrived. He himself would return to the hut; so that, if the police arrived too late, he would be able to continue with the bush rangers till some fresh opportunity occurred for bringing his master upon them. It was possible, of course, that one of the men would be left in the hut, in which case he had only to wait.

The next morning the men busied themselves examining and cleaning their arms, and after dinner they went to the inner cave, and led out their horses.

"Now, look here," the leader said to him, "we are going away, you see."

Jim nodded.

"We come back again tomorrow. I lock this place up, you stop quiet till we come back. If anyone comes and knocks, while we away, don't Jim answer. Let them think place empty."

"All right," Jim said shortly, and went and sat down by the fire, as if he had no further interest in their proceedings.

The windows, he had already noticed, had not only shutters outside; but they were firmly closed within, with massive planks, securely nailed and fastened. Jim heard the last of the party go out, and then the door was shut, and the lock turned. Jim heard the party ride off, and then threw himself on the ground and listened, to assure himself that they kept steadily on their way.

The moment he was sure they were gone, he began to search the place for a tool which would fairly suit his purpose. Presently he found a large butcher's knife, with which they cut up the carcasses; and with this he set to work to dig a hole in the ground, close to the wall of the hut. The bottom log was only sunk a few inches in the soil, and in two hours he had burrowed under it, and made his way out beyond; then he crept back again, scraped the earth into the hole again as tightly as he could, crawling out backwards. He then placed a piece of turf over the outside hole, and stamped it down flat.

It was possible that, after he had started, they might change their mind and send one of their number back again; that, however, had to be risked, and at a steady run he set off for the settlements. He did not make for the nearest; for he had gathered, from the talk of the men, that the convict labourers of most of the settlements in the neighbourhood were in league with them.

After three hours' steady running, in which he had covered over twenty miles, he saw a shepherd's cottage and, making for it, gave the man the message which he had taken to Reuben. He had no sooner done so, and had found that the man was willing to set off with it at once, than he turned and retraced his steps to the hut, as rapidly as he had come. It was already dusk when he reached it.

Instead of approaching boldly, he made a circuit and crawled up to it on his belly; and lay for some time, listening intently, with his ear to the door. He felt convinced that no one was there; but to make sure he knocked, and then withdrew among the trees. But all was still and, feeling sure now that the place was untenanted, he removed the piece of turf from the hole and made his way back into the hut again; carefully replacing the piece of turf, and then packing earth under it, so that it would not give way if trodden upon. This, however, was a very unlikely occurrence, as he had made the opening where some bushes screened it from view.

He swept up every scrap of soil from the floor inside, filled up the hole there and trampled it down; and then, after indulging his appetite to the fullest, threw himself down and went to sleep.

When he awoke, a few streaks of light streaming through the cracks of the door showed that it was day; and he made up the fire, and awaited the return of the bush rangers.

It was four or five hours before they returned, and the instant they opened the door and entered, Jim was sure that they had failed; but to his disappointment all were there, and his plan of taking them in a trap had not succeeded. At this he was not surprised; for his own calculations, as to the distance to be traversed, had shown him that it was very questionable whether, even under the most favourable circumstances, Reuben could have got there in time with his men.

Without speaking a word to him, the men led their horses through to the inner cave, and then threw themselves down by the fire. Jim at once proceeded to unsaddle the horses, and rub them down; keeping an ear open, all the time, to what was being said by the bush rangers. Their remarks however were, for a time, confined to terrible curses as to their luck.

"How did it come about, that's what I want to know?" the leader said. "This is the second time that accursed police fellow has turned up, and put a spoke in our wheel. Why, it was not more than half an hour after the first shot was fired before they was down upon us; there must have been pretty nigh twenty of them. How could they have got such a lot of men as that together, if they hadn't known that we were coming? It beats me altogether."

"So it does me!" was the general exclamation.

"They seemed regularly to jump out of the ground, just when all was going pleasant. Never knew such a bit of luck—that is, if it was luck, and not done o' purpose—and yet, I don't see as they could have known, possible, as we was going there. Why, we didn't know ourselves till yesterday, not what day it was to be; and except ourselves, and that black fellow, no one could have known it."

"Well, it's certain none of us blabbed; and I don't see as how he could have told anyone."

"Not exactly," the leader said, "considering he's been shut up here, ever since we have been away; besides, I don't believe he knew anything about it. He don't make out half we say to him and, when we are talking together, he minds us no more than if he had been a black monkey; but if he did, it's no odds, he could not have passed through these walls and back again; and if he could, who was he to tell it to? The men round here are all our pals, and would have cut his jaw short with a bullet. But there, it's no use talking about it, he's not been out, and there's an end of it.

"Still, it beats me altogether. That police fellow seems to know what we are up to, just as well as we do ourselves. I would give all my share of the swag we have made, for the last six months, for a shot at him."

"I don't like it," one of the others said, "I don't; blest if I do; and I says as the sooner we are out of here, the better. After what's happened, I sha'n't feel safe till I am well out in the blacks' country. If he knows what we are going to do, there ain't any reasons why he shouldn't know where we are."

"Why, Johnson," his leader sneered, "you don't really believe the fellow's a sort of conjurer, do you?"

"I don't know," the man said doggedly. "After he has turned up twice as he has, I shouldn't be surprised at nothing—not if I heard the sound of him and his men galloping up outside, now."

There was a moment's silence, as each involuntarily listened.

"We are getting to be like a pack of gals," the leader said savagely, "and I agree with you, the sooner we are out of this, the better. As soon as it gets dark, we will be on the move; but I tell you, directly we get out among the blacks, I shall come back again. I am going to carry off that gal, somehow. I've owed her one for years and years, and I always pays my debts—at least, that sort of debt.

"Now then, you black, just leave them horses for the present, and come and cook us some food; the quicker, the better."

Jim hurried about, but in the bush rangers' present state of temper, nothing would satisfy them; and when, in his hurry to satisfy their angry orders, he stumbled and upset a glass of spirits and water he was handing to the captain, the latter caught up a brand from the fire; and struck him so violent a blow on the temple, with the glowing end, that he fell senseless on the ground.

He must have lain there a long time. He was brought to his senses by a bucket of water being dashed over him; and he found, when he staggered to his feet, that the band were preparing to depart. They had already packed up the bales of presents for the blacks, and placed them on the horses. Some of their more valuable belongings were packed away in a secret hiding place, the rest were left to take their chance till they returned; and indeed, except by their friends among the shepherds, there was little probability of anyone paying a visit to the hut, however long their absence might be.

Had it not been that Jim had proved himself a really useful fellow, for the last week, they would have shot him at once and tossed his body in the wood; but they found it so pleasant, having all their work taken off their hands, that after a short discussion they decided to take him with them.

The door was locked, and they started at a trot; but evening was closing in, their horses had already performed two long journeys in the last twenty-four hours, and they soon settled into a walk. They travelled for some hours and, it being then evident that the horses could proceed no further, a halt was called. No fire was lighted, for they were scarcely beyond the settlements and, for aught they could tell, an active search might still be carried on for them.

So anxious were they, that they agreed to keep watch by turns; but when morning broke, it was discovered that the black was missing. The next quarter of an hour was spent in angry recriminations; but as none could say in whose watch he made his escape, their quarrel ceased.

"It's no use bothering about it," the leader said. "There's one thing, he knows nothing, and can tell nothing against us. He may guess what he likes, but people don't waste time in listening to black fellows' stories. I expect he has only given us the slip because of that lick across the head I gave him, last night. I admit I was a fool to do it, but I wasn't in the best of tempers.

"However, if the worst comes to the worst, he can only lead them to the hut; and they won't find much worth taking, there. When we once get out to the blacks, we can snap our fingers at them."

It was, indeed, about midnight when Jim had stolen away. He was still faint and giddy, and his face was terribly burned by the blow which had been dealt him; but when once fairly away from the bush rangers, he set out in the direction in which he knew the Donalds' station lay; and never halted until he arrived there, on the following evening, utterly wearied and worn out, for he had eaten nothing on the previous day.

"Then they have got away after all, Jim," Reuben said, when he had listened patiently to the long narration. "You have done all that was possible, Jim. You have done splendidly, my poor fellow, and although we were just too late to catch the bush rangers, we saved the people here; but it is indeed unfortunate that they should have got off."

"Jim knows where dey hab gone," the black said. "Dey hab gone to de country of Bobitu—I heard dem say de name. Jim know dat country well—he come from der."

Further question showed that Jim had, indeed, belonged to Bobitu's tribe; and had come with a party of his people down to the settlements, where he was taken ill and left to die, but was picked up and nursed by Mr. Hudson.

"And you could take us there?"

Jim nodded.

"Bery long march, massa. Tree days, with horses. Plenty bad people; much fight."

"I don't care how far it is, or how much fighting we have got to do; I am bound to hunt down that fellow, however far he's gone. I suppose there is no trouble about water. If they can go there, we can."

"Four, six water holes," Jim said. "No trouble about dat—trouble from de black fellow."

"Well, we must risk it, anyhow. We can't start for a day or two. I must send and fetch up all the police, and I daresay some of the colonists will join. The news of this business here has maddened everyone, and as it is not likely that the blacks will give any trouble for some time, and as we know the bush rangers have left for the present, no one need be afraid of leaving their station for a week or two."

The next day mounted messengers were sent off in all directions, giving notice that the police would start, in three days' time, for a hunt after the bush rangers; and that there was, this time, every prospect of success, as their hiding place was known.

On the day named, no less than thirty settlers assembled; together with the whole of the police force. All were well armed, and had brought several days' provisions with them. Mr. Donald had made marked progress, and the surgeon had now every hopes of his recovery; but as he could not be moved, and it was just possible the bush ranger might return to carry out his threat, during their absence, two constables were left in the house; and Kate was charged, on no account, to put her foot outside the door.

Chapter 17: In Pursuit.

The last thing before the party started, Reuben went into the house. Mr. Barker was going to remain behind. He was past middle life, and the expedition was likely to be a very toilsome one; and Reuben was glad when he said that he thought six days' severe riding would be rather too much for him, and that he should constitute himself the guardian of the ladies.

"My wife has arranged to stay here, while you are away; so I shall ride over to my place and see that all is going on straight, every day, and sleep here at night."

"Well, ladies," Reuben said, as he entered the room, "we are just off. So I will say goodbye to you; and I hope that, on my return, I shall find Mr. Donald much better. I am sure that Mr. Ruskin would not have left, this morning, unless he felt that he had quite turned the corner. Pray take care of yourselves, while we are away. You know I don't want to alarm you, but pray be careful. I shall not feel comfortable, as to your safety, till I have that villain safely in my hands."

"Goodbye, Captain Whitney. You know you have all our best wishes," Mrs. Barker said. "We will take care of ourselves, till we hear that you have destroyed the band; and above all, its leader."

"The news that you have done so," Mrs. Donald said, "will do more, I think, for my husband, than anything in the way of doctoring. But take care of yourself, Captain Whitney. I know from what Mr. Barker said that, although you make light of your expedition, it is a dangerous one. He said the police had never ventured so far in the bush, and you may expect sharp fighting with the blacks."

"We may have a brush with them," Reuben said lightly; "but do not be anxious about us. We are a very strong party, and you need have no fear of the result.

"Goodbye, Miss Ellison; pray be careful till I return."

The last words were said in an undertone, as he held her hand.

"Goodbye, Captain Whitney," she said. "God bless you all, and bring you safely back."

Two minutes later, the party rode off. Jim was, like the rest, mounted, as they would travel fast. Four led horses carried provisions; for they would not, as before, find food by the way. It was two o'clock in the day when they started, and they rode thirty miles before they halted, for the night, at a water hole. They had seen no signs of natives during the day, but Reuben at once posted four men as sentries.

It was a merry party round the fire, for all were in high spirits at the prospect of an expedition to a point far beyond that to which any white men, with the exception of fugitives from justice, had penetrated; and they were delighted with the thought of putting a stop, at last, to the operations of the band who had so long been a scourge to the settlement.

Mr. Blount, Dick Caister, and several others who had formed part of the last expedition were of the party; and the confidence which these felt in their young leader, and in the sagacity of his native follower, communicated itself to those who had not formed part of the previous expedition.

"Must start early," Jim said to Reuben, the last thing. "Long way to water. Ride all day, not get dere before dark."

They rode rapidly for some time, after starting, so as to allow the horses to take it easily, during the heat of the day, when there was a halt of three hours; but in the afternoon they quickened their pace again, and men and horses were jaded and done up when, just as the sun was setting, they arrived at their destination.

"How that black fellow of yours finds his way through this bush is a perfect marvel to me," Dick Caister said. "The country has become more undulating, this afternoon; but the first thirty miles were almost perfectly level, and I could see nothing, whatever, that could serve as an index, except of course the sun. Still, that is only a guide as to the general direction. It must have been nine or ten years since that fellow was here, and yet he led us as straight as if he was making for a church steeple."

"It seems to be a sort of instinct," Reuben said, "although possibly, for the last part of the distance, he may have seen signs of the passage of the natives. As far as I can understand, he tells me at this time of year there is no other water hole, within a long distance; so that naturally there will be many natives making for it. I am glad there are not any of them here, now.

"Why isn't that horse hobbled like the rest?" Reuben asked suddenly. "Whose is it?"

"That is the one your black fellow rode, sir," Sergeant O'Connor said.

"Jim, where are you?" Reuben called, but no reply came.

"What has become of him, I wonder?" Reuben said. "Has anyone seen him, since we rode up?"

"He jumped off, the instant we came here," one of the policemen replied; "and said to me, 'Look after captain horse,' and I haven't seen anything of him since."

"There has been somebody here, sir," another policeman said, coming up. "Here's the remains of a fire, behind this bush."

"Yes," Mr. Blount said, examining them, and pulling out a brand that was still glowing. "Do you see, a lot of sand has been thrown over it. Whoever was here must have seen us coming, and tried to extinguish the fire when they caught sight of us."

"That is most unfortunate," Reuben said. "The fellows must have made off, to carry the news of our coming to their friends. However, it's too late to do anything now. It's already getting dark, and they must have got a quarter of an hour's start. We have taken quite enough out of the horses, and can do no more with them, if they have to travel tomorrow; but I would give a year's pay if this hadn't happened.

"Well, there's nothing to do for it but to light our fires, and camp."

The knowledge that they had been seen, and that the news would be carried to those of whom they were in search, acted as a great damper on the spirits of the party; and the camp was much more quiet and subdued than it had been, on the previous evening.

"All is not quite lost," Reuben said when, two hours later, he found that Jim was still absent from the camp. "I can only account for his stealing away from us, in that manner, by supposing that he must either have caught sight of the natives, or come upon their trail; and at once set off in pursuit. I don't see what it could be, otherwise."

"But if he saw them, why didn't he tell you, Whitney?" Mr. Blount said. "Tired as our horses were, they could have got up a gallop for a bit."

"Yes, but for a very short distance," Dick Caister put in; "and as it was getting dusk, if the blacks had had anything like a start, we could not have overtaken them before it had got quite dark. Those blacks can run like the wind. It takes a well-mounted man to overtake them."

An hour after the party had lain down, one of the sentries challenged; and the answer which came back, "All right, me Jim," at once brought everyone to their feet.

"Well, Jim, what is it? Where have you been?" Reuben asked.

"Jim hungry."

"That you may be quite sure," Dick Caister said, with a laugh. "Was there ever a native who wasn't hungry; unless he had stuffed himself, half an hour before?"

"Yes, I kept some supper for you, Jim," Reuben said; "but before you begin to eat, just tell me if everything is all right."

"Everyting all right," Jim said, squatting himself beside the still glowing fire, and beginning to eat.

Reuben knew, by experience, that it was of no use questioning him until he had finished; and he therefore waited patiently, although one or two of the settlers grumbled at being kept waiting for the news. When Jim had finished his meal, he looked round. Reuben knew what he was expecting, and handed him a hornful of rum and water. The black took a draught; and then, without any further delay, began to tell his story.

He had, while still some distance from the halting place, seen a light smoke coming up, and was sure that a party was already there.

"But why did you not tell us, Jim?" Reuben interrupted. "We might have galloped on, and caught them."

"No, sah, no catch dem; horses too tired, black fellow run away, when see white men coming. Dat no do at all. Only one way to do. Let 'em tink dat no one saw dem, else dey run and run, all de way to Bobitu.

"When get near camp, Jim see dat smoke not come up, know de black fellow see white man and put out um fire. When Jim come here he jump off hoss, find fire, and follow de track. Dey four men; one go one way, one go anoder, two men go straight on. Dey go on to tell Bobitu, de oders go to black fellows in de bush. Jim not care for dem, follow de two."

"But how could you follow them, in the dark?"

"Jim were sure de way dey go, dat enough for Jim. He suppose dat dey 'top after a bit; and when dey see de white men all 'top quiet at de water hole, and light fire, dey tink it all right. No make hurry, perhaps 'top and light a fire demselves.

"So Jim go on quiet for two, tree hour; den at last he see fire, sure 'nough. He crawl up quiet and see two black fellow dar, and hear what 'em say. Dey tired, make long walk today to water hole; say no hurry, white men all go sleep round fire, not go on till sun get up, so dey stop for two, tree hour to rest demselves.

"Jim get quite close and jump up, den cut off one black fellow head with sword, run sword through de body of other, finish 'em both, and den come back to camp."

"Well done, indeed, Jim!" Reuben exclaimed, and a chorus of satisfaction rose from all the party at hearing that the men—who, had they reached the bush rangers, would have given the alarm, and so enabled them to make their escape before the expedition arrived—had been killed. The news, however, that two of the party had escaped, and might bring the blacks down upon them before morning, necessitated an increase of precautions.

Reuben at once divided the force into four parties, each consisting of five constables and seven settlers. One party were at once placed on watch, and were to be relieved in two hours' time.

"I not tink dey come before morning, sah," Jim said. "No water hole near here. Tomorrow plenty black fellow come."

"All right, Jim. We don't care for them, in the daylight; and now that I know the bush rangers won't be alarmed, I don't mind."

Jim's prediction proved correct. The night passed off quietly, and the party again started at daylight. The country became more and more broken, as they proceeded. The undulations became hills. Some of these were so steep that all had to dismount, and lead their horses up.

"Is Bobitu's camp among these hills, Jim?"

"Ober toder side, sah. Him place in valley, toder side; bush, plenty game for black fellow."

"How far is it to this valley, Jim?"

Jim's ideas of figures were but vague, and he could only say that they would get there somewhere about sunset.

"That would be a bad time to get there, Jim. We must halt, a mile or two this side of them; and you must lead half the party round, so as to cut off their retreat, even if we don't attack them till the morning. On their fresh horses, those fellows will gallop right away from us, if they once get a start.

"There is no fear, I hope, of any of the other blacks getting there before us, and giving the alarm?"

Jim shook his head.

"No. We come straight from water hole. Black fellow go round long way. No fear dey get dere. Dey fight when we go back."

"That's all right. Bobitu's fellows, and the bush rangers, will be quite enough to tackle at once. As for the others, we will make short work of them, if they venture to attack us on the march back. They fight pluckily enough against men on foot, because they know they can make off when they like; but they can't stand a charge of horsemen."

Although not so long as the journey on the preceding day, the men were heartily glad when, at about four o'clock in the afternoon, the halt was called, and they heard that the place where the bush rangers were supposed to be was but four miles away. After some consultation, it was decided that Jim should lead half the band—consisting of ten constables under O'Connor, and fifteen colonists—round through the hills, to a position near the mouth of the valley in which the blacks and bush rangers were likely to be; and that, when he had posted them there, he should come back again to their present halting place, and lead forward the party under Reuben.

"Mind," Reuben said, before the others started, "we don't want to attack the blacks, unless they show fight. Our object is the bush rangers. Jim says that, by what he heard, they have got some sort of houses they have built there. Let us make straight for them. If the blacks attack, drive them off; but we can settle with them, afterwards. The great point is to capture or kill the bush rangers."

All agreed to this, for although the blacks gave great trouble, by driving off the sheep and cattle, and sometimes killing the shepherds, there was not the same feeling of hatred entertained for them as for the bush rangers. It was felt to be natural that the natives should resent the occupation of their hunting grounds; and although they were shot down without mercy in fair fight, or if overtaken while carrying off cattle, there was no active feeling of animosity against them; and they were generally kindly treated, when they called unarmed at the stations, and asked for food.

Against the bush rangers, on the other hand, a deadly hatred was felt by the colonists; and the fact that these were constantly aided, by the ticket-of-leave labourers, increased the hostility with which they were regarded.

Jim left his horse behind him, when he started with his party; saying that coming back at night, in the dark, he would rather be without it. After their comrades had set out, those who remained behind posted two men as sentries; and then, as soon as they had cooked and eaten a meal, laid themselves down to sleep, until the time should come for their advance.

It was just midnight when Jim returned. He reported that he had seen no blacks by the way, and that he believed he had posted his party without their being observed. He himself, instead of returning by the same route that he had taken them, had come straight up the valley.

There were, he said, two huts which had been built by the bush rangers; and these were now occupied by them. There were great fires blazing, and he thought that the natives had probably only arrived there that evening. He had got near enough to find that they were in a high state of delight, at the presents which their white friends had brought them.

"Did you catch sight of any of the bush rangers, Jim?" Reuben asked.

"Two ob dem came out and spoke to black fellows at fire, but too far off to see which dey were."

An hour before daybreak the party moved forward, and halted within half a mile of the bush rangers' camp. There they stopped, till they could see the sunlight touch the top of the hill at the right-hand side of the valley. This was the signal agreed upon and, mounting, they rode forward at full speed.

Just as they got within sight of the huts, they heard a wild shouting, followed instantly by the crack of rifles. Another minute, and they had reached the scene and joined the other party, who had made straight to the huts. The blacks, awakened suddenly as they were sleeping round the embers of their fires, had hastily thrown a volley of spears, and had darted away among the bushes.

"Surrender, in the queen's name!" Reuben shouted, "and I promise you that you shall be taken down, and have a fair trial."

The answer came in the flash of a rifle, from the window of one of the huts; and a constable immediately behind Reuben fell dead, with the ball through his head.

"Dismount!" Reuben shouted, "and break in the doors."

With a shout, the men threw themselves from their horses and rushed at the doors of the huts.

"Sergeant O'Connor," Reuben said; "do you, with six of your men, keep up a fire at the windows. Don't let a man show himself there.

"Let ten of the others look after the horses. We shall have the blacks back, in no time."

So saying, he ran forward and joined those who were battering at the doors. Several of them had brought stout axes with them, and the doors speedily gave way. There was a rush forward.

Mr. Blount fell dead, and Dick Caister's shoulder was broken by a bullet; but there was no check, as the colonists poured into the huts. There was a short sharp fight, but in two minutes it was over. Three of the gang had been shot, as they leapt from the windows. Four more lay dead, or dying, in the huts.

One of them had thrown down his arms, and shouted for mercy. He had been knocked down and stunned, by the butt end of a rifle; but was otherwise unwounded.

Short as was the fight, it had given time to the blacks to rally. Their shouts were ringing in the air, and the spears were flying thickly as the party, having finished their work, rushed outside again, to assist the constables who were guarding the horses.

"Pour a volley into the bushes," Reuben shouted; "then mount, and charge them."

The order was executed and, in a minute, the horsemen were dashing hither and thither among the bushes, shooting down with their pistols the blacks who resisted, or dealing tremendous blows among them with their hunting whips. The charge was irresistible, and in five minutes the main body of the blacks were flying, at full speed, up the steep hillsides.

The victors soon gathered round the huts. Several men and horses had been wounded with spears, but none of the injuries were of a serious character.

"Well, how about the prisoners?" Reuben asked the sergeant, who had arrived before him.

"There's only one prisoner, sir. All the rest are accounted for."

"Is it their captain?"

"I don't know, sir. I have never set eyes on him; but if he's a young chap, as they say, it ain't him."

"Jim," Reuben said, "just go round and examine the bodies, and see which of them is the captain."

Jim returned in a couple of minutes.

"None of dem ain't him, sah. He not dere."

Reuben started.

"Are you quite sure, Jim?"

"Quite sure, sah."

"Are you sure none of them escaped, sergeant?"

"I am quite sure of that, sir. No one came out of either of the doors, and there were only three who tried to bolt through the windows, and we accounted for them all. Perhaps that chap who is prisoner can tell you where to find the captain. It's a bad job, indeed, if he has escaped."

"Is the man recovering his senses?"

"Yes, sir, he's just coming round."

Reuben stepped into the hut. The escape of Thorne destroyed all the satisfaction which his success would have given him. He had good reason to know the fiendish malignity of the man and, in spite of the warnings he had given Kate Ellison, and his strict orders to the police on guard, he felt a thrill of anxiety, now that he was aware her enemy was still at large.

The prisoner was sitting up, in a corner of the hut; a policeman, with drawn sword, standing near him.

"Where is your leader?" Reuben asked sternly. "The man you call Fothergill."

"He went away yesterday morning," the man said, with a grin of satisfaction. "You haven't caught him yet; and you will hear more of him, before you do."

"Where was he going?" Reuben demanded.

"You won't get nothing out of me," the fellow said. "He's been a good mate, and a true, and I ain't going to put you bloodhounds on his scent. He's gone a-wooing, that's where he's gone, and that won't help you much."

Reuben at once went outside, and called the settlers round him.

"I am sorry to say," he said, "that the leader of the party has got away. He rode off yesterday morning, and although the prisoner we have taken did not say where he has gone, I have not the least doubt he has ridden back to the Donalds, to try and carry out his threat to return for Miss Ellison.

"Therefore, gentlemen, may I ask you to start homeward, at once. The horses have only done a few miles and, if we press forward, we may manage to get to our camp of the evening before last. We have no more to do here, except to see if there are any valuables hidden in the huts, and set fire to them.

"I expect that we shall have fighting with the blacks, on our way back. Those parties the two fellows who got away went to fetch will, likely enough, bar our way. If it were not for that, I should ride on by myself; but my duty is to stop with my men until, at any rate, we have passed the place where the blacks are likely to attack us. That done, I shall push on. It is annoying, indeed, to think that that fellow must have passed us somewhere on the way, yesterday."

The settlers agreed, at once. They all sympathized with Reuben, in his disappointment at the escape of the leader of the bush rangers; and regretted the matter deeply, on their own account. They were, too, now that the work was done, anxious to be off; not only because they wished to return to their stations, but because they felt that their position was a dangerous one. They had penetrated, to a distance hitherto unattempted, into the country of the natives; and they knew that these would gather round them, like hornets, on their return march.

Ten minutes were spent in the search of the huts. The police probed the ground with their swords, and closely examined the walls. They found, under some sheepskins in one corner, a bag containing upwards of two hundred pounds; which was doubtless the amount which the bush rangers had brought back with them, from their last plundering expedition, and had not yet been added to their main store, wherever that might be. This, however, was a welcome find to the police, and they abandoned the idea of searching further; and were about to set fire to the hut, when the prisoner said:

"Lookee here! I may as well tell you where the lot is hidden. It may do me good, when it comes to the trial; and you may as well have it, as for it to lay there. You dig up the ground in front of that tree, behind the hut, and you will find it."

Five minutes later a large leather bag, containing a considerable quantity of gold and notes, and a number of watches, chains, and other trinkets, was brought to light.

"Don't stop to count the money now," Reuben said. "Fasten it on one of the horses, and let us be off.

"Sergeant, let Jones ride beside the prisoner, and be responsible for his safety. See that his hands are tied behind him, and his ankles tied securely to stirrup leathers. Let four men take charge of the eight horses of these bush rangers. Do you ride ahead with four others, and keep a sharp lookout as you go. Don't press the horses, but we must go at a smart pace, for we have a long day's march before us. It is fully sixty miles to the water hole where we camped, the night before last."

A few minutes later, the party were in motion. Although disappointed at the escape of the leader of the band, they were well satisfied with the result of the expedition, and at the small amount of loss at which it had been accomplished. There was general regret at the death of Mr. Blount; but two lives were considered to be but a small loss, for the capture of so strong a body of bush rangers; who, knowing that they fought with ropes round their neck, always made a desperate resistance.

Half the journey was accomplished without incident, and Reuben felt satisfied that they would, at least, have no trouble with the tribe they had scattered in the morning. The speedy start that they had made had taken them beyond their pursuit; and if attacked, it would be by other tribes.

After an hour's halt, to feed the horses and cook some meat for themselves, the party proceeded again. Another fifteen miles were passed; then Reuben saw the sergeant, with the little party ahead, suddenly draw rein. He galloped forward to them.

"What is it, sergeant?"

"I am pretty sure I saw a black fellow's head, over that rock, sir. It's a nasty piece of ground. I noticed it yesterday, as I came along. It would be the worst place to be attacked in of any we have passed. If the blacks are here in force, they know what they are doing."

Reuben examined the position. It was certainly a nasty place to be attacked in. The valley was narrow, and thickly strewn with boulders of all sizes, which had rolled down from the hillsides. Among these the bush grew thickly, and it was only down a narrow path in the centre, formed by a winter stream, now dry, that horsemen could pass.

"I don't think it would do to make a bolt through that, sir," the sergeant said, shaking his head. "We could only ride two abreast and, if they are strong, we should be riddled with spears before we got through; and there's no charging them, among those stones and bush."

"That is so, sergeant. We shall have to dismount, and drive them out foot by foot. There's nothing else for it."

By this time all the party had come up, and Reuben explained to them the situation. All at once agreed that they could do nothing on horseback, on such ground.

The whole party therefore dismounted. The horses were tied to bushes, and the prisoner securely fastened to a tree. Then, rifle in hand, they moved forward.

The sergeant's eye had not deceived him for, as they approached the spot where the boulders and bush grew thickest, a shower of spears was thrown, and the native cry rose shrill in the air. The party were advancing in skirmishing order; and most of them threw themselves down, or dodged behind rocks, as the blacks rose to throw their spears and, a moment later, the rifles cracked out. Several of the blacks fell, and the rest disappeared among the bushes.

"Make your way forward, steadily and carefully. Let each man watch his neighbour, to the right and left, and keep in line as much as you can."

The fight now commenced in earnest, but the settlers and police gradually made their way forward. Not only had they the advantage in weapons; but the fact that they were able to fire while lying down, or stooping, gave them an immense advantage over the blacks; who had to expose themselves when rising to throw their spears, or take aim with their bows.

Several times, emboldened by their superior numbers, the blacks attempted a rush; but the heavy fire from rifle and pistol which greeted them, each time, sent them back in diminished numbers. At last the resistance became feebler, as the natives, seeing that they were being driven out of their shelter, began to slink off; so as not to be exposed to the fire of the white men, in the comparatively open ground beyond. Many, however, were not quick enough, and were shot down as they scaled the steep hillside.

The party of whites gathered, and compared notes. Many had received wounds more or less severe, but none of a nature to prevent them from continuing their journey. They quickly returned to their horses and, mounting, continued their way.

"There is no fear of any farther attack, I should think, sergeant."

"I should think not, sir. The beggars must have had enough of it. They must have lost from forty to fifty men."

Two hours later, the party arrived at the halting place.

"Now, sergeant," Reuben said, "I shall hand over the command to you; and shall ride on at once, with my boy. I am most anxious about the man who has escaped. I shall take four of the bush rangers' horses. They have not been ridden and, having had three or four days' rest, are comparatively fresh. The fellow has had only one day's start and, if I push straight on, I may be there before him."

Reuben briefly bade adieu to his friends, while Jim was transferring the saddles to two of the bush rangers' horses and, leading two others, they started together in darkness. Changing saddles every ten miles, they rode on till past midnight, when they halted; for the horses, accustomed as they were to long journeys, were now completely broken down, and Jim and his master could scarce keep their seats.

"Too much long," Jim said, as he threw himself down, after taking off the saddles and hobbling the horses; "too much long, sah."

"It is long, Jim," Reuben replied. "People in England would hardly believe horses could go a hundred miles in a day, even if led a part of the distance. Another fifty miles will take us to Donald's. It is about twenty miles to the water hole where we camped, the first night; and that was about thirty miles from the station."

"Shall Jim light a fire, sah?"

"No, Jim, it isn't worth while. There is some cold meat in my haversack, if you are hungry; but I am too tired to eat. If there are any natives prowling about, a fire might bring them round on us."

"No tink black fellows near, massa."

"I don't think so either, but I don't want to run the risk, Jim; besides, I am sure neither of us can be trusted to keep watch."

Reuben, in spite of his fatigue, was some time before he could get off to sleep. The thought that probably Tom Thorne was, at that time, camped at the water hole twenty miles ahead; and that, in the morning, his horse would be far fresher than those he had ridden, was maddening to him. At one time he thought of getting up, and pursuing his way on foot; but he was stiff in every limb, and felt that the journey was beyond him. Moreover, if the bush ranger had taken some other line, and was not camping there, he would have no means of pursuing his journey.

At the first gleam of daylight they were afoot. The saddles were put on the horses, and they continued their way. Reuben soon found, however, that the five hours he had rested had been insufficient to restore the horses and, even by riding them alternately, he could get them but little beyond a walk.

On arriving at the water hole, the remains of a fire were found. Jim examined the ground carefully, and found the tracks of a horse; and was of opinion that the rider had started three or four hours previously. Reuben carried a large flask of spirits and, having poured what remained in it down the throats of the horses, and given them a drink at the pool, he again pressed on.

Ten miles farther, he arrived at the first outlying station. The owner of this had not joined in the expedition, being a married man, and unwilling to leave his wife in such an exposed position. But upon Reuben's arrival he at once agreed to lend him two fresh horses, and to take care of those which Reuben brought with him.

While the settler was driving them in from the paddock, his wife busied herself in preparing two huge bowls of bread and milk. These were thankfully swallowed by Reuben and Jim and, five minutes later, they started on the fresh horses.

It was indeed a relief, to Reuben's anxiety, to find himself again flying over the ground at a rapid gallop, after the slow and tedious pace at which he had travelled since morning. His spirits rose, and the fears which had oppressed him seemed lifted, as if by magic. He assured himself that he had no cause for anxiety, for that the two constables would assuredly be on the watch, and Kate had promised not to venture beyond the doors of the house until his return.

Chapter 18: Settling Accounts.

Reuben soon checked the speed of his horse. Anxious as he was to arrive as soon as possible, he might, for aught he knew, yet have occasion to try the animal to the utmost; and he therefore reduced the almost racing pace, at which he had started, into an ordinary steady gallop. The horses were fresh and in good condition, and for several miles kept up the pace without flagging. Then they were allowed to ease down into a walk, until they got their wind again; and then started at the pace, half canter, half gallop, which is the usual rate of progression of the colonial horses. They drew rein at last on a slight eminence, from which the Donalds' station, a mile or so distant, could be perceived.

"Thank God," Reuben muttered to himself, "I am back here, at last. There is no occasion for further hurry;" and the horses were allowed to go at an easy walk.

"Man on horseback," Jim suddenly said, touching Reuben's arm.

"Where—where, Jim?"

"Gone from de house, sah, trough dem trees. Dare he go again, he gallop fast."

Reuben had not caught sight of the figure, but he pressed his spurs against the horse's sides.

"I will see who it is, at any rate. Jim, do you ride straight on to the house, and say I shall be there in a few minutes."

As Reuben rode, at a headlong gallop, towards the point where his course would probably intersect that of the horseman, riding in the direction Jim had pointed out, he turned over rapidly, in his mind, the thought whether his anxiety for Kate Ellison was not making a fool of him. Why should he turn from his course, just at the end of a long journey, to start at full speed on the track of this figure, of which Jim had caught only a glance? It might be a stockman, or someone who had ridden over from one of the neighbouring stations to see how Donald was getting on; but even so, he told himself, no harm was done by his assuring himself of that.

It was not the way Mr. Barker would take to his station. Had it been a neighbour who had come over, he would not be likely to leave again, so early. Neither of the constables would be riding away, in defiance of his orders on no account to stir any distance from the house.

Presently he caught a glimpse of the horseman. He was not more than half a mile away now, but the view he obtained was so instantaneous that he could not distinguish any particulars.

"He is riding fast, anyhow," he said. "Faster than a man would travel, on ordinary business. He is either a messenger, sent on urgent business; or it is Thorne."

He slightly altered the direction of his course, for the speed at which the horseman was travelling must take him ahead of him, at the point where Reuben had calculated upon cutting him off. In a short distance he would get a view of him; for the trees ended here, and the plain was open and unbroken, save by low bush.

When the figure came clear of the trees, he was but a quarter of a mile away; and Reuben gave a start, for he recognized at once the uniform of his own corps. It could only be one of the men left at Donald's and, with an exclamation of anger, Reuben pressed his horse to the utmost in pursuit of the man, who was now almost directly ahead, at the same time uttering a loud call.

The man glanced back but, to Reuben's surprise, instead of stopping waved his hand above his head, and pressed forward. Two miles were traversed before Reuben was beside him.

"What do you mean, sir?" he thundered out.

But the man pointed ahead.

"He has carried off Miss Ellison, sir, and has shot Brown dead. I will tell you, afterwards.

"There, do you see, sir, over that brow there?"

At the moment, Reuben saw a figure on horseback rise against the skyline, fully two miles in front.

"Ride steadily, Smithson," he said. "Keep me in view, and I will keep him. We must overtake him in time, for his horse is carrying double. I shall push on, for I am better mounted than you are; and he may try to double, and throw us off his traces. If anything happens to me don't stop for a moment, but hunt that fellow down to the end."

Reuben had been holding his horse somewhat in hand, during the last mile, for he thought there must be some reason for the constable's strange conduct; but he now let him go and, urging him to his full speed, soon left the constable behind. He knew that, for some distance ahead, the country was flat and unbroken; and that the fugitive would have no chance of concealment, whichever way he turned.

Upon reaching the spot where he had seen the bush ranger pass, the wide plain opened before him; and he gave a shout of exultation, as he saw that he had gained considerably. The fugitive, indeed, had evidently not been pressing his horse.

"He thinks he has a long journey before him," Reuben muttered. "I fancy he's mistaken. He thinks he's only got a constable after him, and that he can easily rid himself of him, whenever he comes up to him. No doubt he learned from some of the convicts that everyone is away, and therefore thinks himself safe from all pursuit, when once he has wiped out Smithson. All the better. I shall overtake him all the sooner."

Such indeed was the view of the bush ranger, who kept along at a steady canter, troubling himself very little about the solitary constable whom he believed to be in pursuit of him. When, indeed, on glancing round, he saw that his pursuer was within a quarter of a mile of him, he reined in his horse and, turning, calmly awaited his coming.

Reuben at once checked the speed of his horse. He knew that the man was said to be a deadly shot with his pistol, but he was confident in his own skill; for, with constant and assiduous practice, he had attained a marvellous proficiency with his weapon. But he did not care to give his foe the advantage, which a man sitting on a steady seat possesses, over one in the saddle of a galloping horse. He therefore advanced only at a walk.

The bush ranger put down the change in speed to fear, caused by his resolute attitude, and shouted:

"Look here, constable. You had best turn your horse's head, and go home again. You know well enough that one constable is no match for me, so you had best rein up before I put a bullet in your head. If you shoot, you are just as likely to kill the young woman here, as you are me; and you know I don't make any mistake."

Reuben was already conscious of his disadvantage in this respect, for the bush ranger held the girl on the saddle in front of him, so that her body completely covered his. She was enveloped in a shawl, which covered her head as well as her figure. Her captor held her tightly pressed to him with his left arm, while his right was free to use a pistol.

Reuben checked his horse at a distance of some fifty yards, while he thought over the best course to pursue. As he paused, Thorne, for the first time, noticed that it was an officer with whom he had to deal, and not with the constable; who, as he believed, was the only one in the district. He uttered a savage exclamation, for he felt that this materially altered the conditions of the affair.

"Oh, it's you, is it?" he said. "I thought it was only one of your men; but the advice I gave is as good, for you, as for him. I advise you to turn back, before all my mates are down on you."

"Your mates will never be down on anyone again, Tom Thorne," Reuben said sternly. "We have wiped out seven of them, and the other is a prisoner."

"It's a lie!" the bush ranger said, furiously. "They are two hundred miles away, in the bush."

"With your friend Bobitu, eh? Yes, they were, but they are not now, Thorne. They are lying under the ashes of that hut of yours, close to the tree where you buried your treasure; and it's I who am going to have help, not you. My man will be up in a few minutes," and he glanced round at the constable, whom the bush ranger now perceived, for the first time, less than half a mile away.

Reuben's words had the effect they were intended to excite. They filled the bush ranger with fury, and desire for vengeance; while the sight of the approaching constable showed him that, unless he took prompt measures, he would have two adversaries to fight at once.

Without a moment's hesitation, he set spurs to his horse and dashed at Reuben. When within twenty yards, he fired.

Reuben felt a sharp pain, as if a hot iron had been passed across his cheek. Thorne uttered a shout of exultation as he saw him start but, as he kept his seat, again raised his hand to fire. In an instant Reuben discharged his pistol, and the bush ranger's weapon dropped from his hand, for Reuben's bullet passed through his wrist.

Throwing the burden before him headlong to the ground, Thorne drew a pistol with his left hand; and the two shots rung out again, at almost the same instant. Reuben, however, was slightly the quickest, and this saved his life. His bullet passed through the bush ranger's body, while Thorne's pistol was diverted somewhat from its aim, and the bullet struck Reuben's left shoulder, instead of his head. In an instant, he had drawn another pistol.

"Surrender or I fire!" and then seeing, by the change in the bush ranger's face, and by his collapsing figure, that he was badly hit; he waited, still keeping Thorne covered with the muzzle, for the bush ranger had a charge left in the pistol which he still grasped in his left hand.

Twice Thorne tried to raise it, but in vain. Then he reeled in the saddle, the pistol dropped from his hand, and he fell heavily over on to the ground.

Reuben at once leaped from his horse, and ran to raise Kate Ellison; who lay motionless on the ground, as she had been thrown. Removing the shawl wrapped round her head, he found she was insensible. Kneeling beside her, he raised her head to his shoulder and, a minute later, the constable galloped up.

"Badly hurt, captain?" he asked, as he leaped off his horse; for the blood was streaming down Reuben's face, and his left arm hung useless.

"Nothing to speak of, Smithson. See to Miss Ellison, first. There is some water in my flask in the holster. Just bring it here, and sprinkle her face. I hope she is only stunned; but that scoundrel threw her off with such force, that she may well be badly hurt."

"Is he done for, captain?" the man asked, glancing at the prostrate figure of the bush ranger, as he proceeded to obey Reuben's instructions; "because if you ain't certain about it, I had better put a bullet into him. These fellows are very fond of playing 'possum, and then turning the tables upon you."

"There is no fear of that, Smithson. He's hard hit. I hope he's not dead, for I would rather that he were tried for his crimes."

It was some time before Kate Ellison opened her eyes. For a moment she looked vaguely round; then, as her eyes fell upon Reuben's face, she uttered a little cry, and raised herself into a sitting position.

"What is it, Captain Whitney? Are you badly hurt?"

"Thank God you have recovered, Miss Ellison. You began to frighten me horribly. I was afraid you were seriously injured.

"Do not look so alarmed. I can assure you I am not much hurt; only a flesh wound, I fancy, in the cheek, and a broken collarbone."

"And you have saved me again, Captain Whitney?"

"Yes, thank God I have had that good fortune," Reuben said quietly; "and this time for good, for Tom Thorne will never molest you again."

"But can't I do something? Your face is bleeding dreadfully. Please let me bind it up;" and tearing a strip off the bottom of her dress, she proceeded to bandage Reuben's face.

The constable took off the black silk handkerchief which he wore round his neck.

"I think, miss, this will make a sling for his arm; and when that is done the captain will be pretty right.

"Do you think you can ride back, sir?" he asked, when he had fastened the handkerchief, "or will you wait till I ride back to the farm, and fetch help."

"I can ride back well enough," Reuben said, trying to rise to his feet; but he found himself unable to do so.

The ball, after breaking his collarbone, had glanced downwards, and the wound was a more serious one than he had imagined.

"No, I don't think I can ride back, Smithson."

"There is a light cart at the farm," Kate Ellison said. "Please fetch that. I will stop here, with Captain Whitney, till you come back."

"I think that will be the best way, miss," the constable agreed and, mounting, he rode off at once.

It was an hour and a half before he returned, bringing the cart; but before he arrived, Mr. and Mrs. Barker had ridden up on horseback, the former having returned from his visit to the farm, just as the constable rode in. While they had been alone, Reuben had heard from Kate what had taken place.

"I did as you told me, Captain Whitney, and did not go once outside the door. The constables kept a very sharp lookout, and one of them was always on guard by the door; so there really did not seem any possibility of danger.

"This morning, as I was washing up the breakfast things with Mrs. Barker, a shot was suddenly fired outside the door and, before I had time to think what it meant, that man rushed in. He caught me by the wrist, and said:

"'Come along, it's no use your screaming.'

"Mrs. Barker caught up something and rushed at him, but he knocked her down with the butt end of his pistol. Then he caught up her shawl, which was lying on the chair close by, and threw it right over my head; and then caught me up, and carried me out.

"I tried to struggle, but he seemed to hold me as if I were in a vice. I heard Alice scream, and then I must have fainted; for the next thing I knew was that I was being carried along on horseback. I was so muffled up, and he held me so tight, that I felt it was no use to struggle; and I made up my mind to lie quite still, as if I was still insensible, till he put me down; and then—I think I intended to try and seize his pistol, or to get hold of a knife, if there was one and, if I could not kill him, to kill myself.

"There did not seem the least hope of rescue. Mr. Barker was away, and would not be back for hours. I supposed that the constables were shot, and all the men round were away with you; and from the distance you said you were going, I did not think you could be back for days.

"Presently I felt him stop and turn his horse; and then, when he spoke, I knew that he had not killed both the constables, and that one of them had followed him. When you answered, I thought it was your voice, though it seemed impossible; but I could not be sure, because I could not hear plainly through the shawl. Then the pistols were fired, and I suddenly felt myself falling; and I did not know anything more, till I saw you leaning over me.

"But where are all the others, and how is it you are here alone? Of course, you must have turned back before you got to where the bush rangers were."

"No, I am glad to say we succeeded with that part of the work, Miss Ellison, and have wiped out the bush rangers altogether. We have got one of them a prisoner, but all the rest of the gang are killed.

"The distance is not quite so far as we thought it was. It was a thirty miles' march, and two sixties. We attacked them at daybreak, on the third day after leaving."

"But it is only the fourth day today, is it not? At least, it seems so to me."

"It is the fourth day, Miss Ellison. When we found that the leader of the gang was not with them, and I learned from the man we had taken prisoner that he had started to ride back here, twenty-four hours before, I was naturally very anxious about you; knowing, as I did, what desperate actions the man was capable of. So we started at once and, after a sharp fight with the blacks, got down in the evening to the water hole, sixty miles on our way back, where we had camped the second night out.

"Of course the horse I had ridden could travel no further, but I pushed on with my black boy, on two of the horses which we had taken from the bush rangers, and which had been led so far. We made another forty miles by midnight, and then halted till daybreak, to give the horses rest; but they were so done up, this morning, that we could not get them much beyond a foot pace. When we came to the first settlement we exchanged them for fresh ones, and galloped on; and, thank God, we are just in time."

The tears were standing in the girl's eyes, and she laid her hand on his, and said quietly:

"Thank you. Then you have ridden a hundred and fifty miles since yesterday morning, besides having two fights; and all because you were uneasy about me?"

"I had, as you see, good reason to be uneasy, Miss Ellison."

At this moment a horse's hoofs were heard approaching, and Jim galloped up. He had, on arriving at the station, been unable to obtain any information as to what had taken place. Mrs. Donald was in a dead faint. Mrs. Barker had, just before he arrived, ridden off to meet her husband; but the dead body of the constable, by the door, and the disappearance of Kate, showed him what had taken place; and he at once started after his master.

His horse, however, was a very inferior one to that ridden by Reuben, and until he met the constable returning, he had been obliged to follow the track of the horses in front; so he did not arrive at the scene of the fray till half an hour after its conclusion. He uttered exclamations of dismay, at seeing his master's condition; for Reuben had been gradually growing faint, and could now scarcely support himself on his elbow.

Jim, however, had taken the precaution to snatch a bottle of spirits from the shelf, before he started; having an eye to his own comforts, as well as to the possibility of its being required. He now knocked off the neck, and poured some into the cup of Reuben's flask, and put it to his lips.

"Thank you, Jim; that is just what I wanted."

"Massa lie down quiet," Jim said. "No good sit up;" and, gathering a large bunch of grass, he placed it under Reuben's head; and Reuben lay quiet, in a half dreamy state, until Mr. and Mrs. Barker rode up.

Kate rose to her feet as they approached; but she was so stiff and bruised, with her fall, that she could scarcely move forward to meet Mrs. Barker; and burst into tears, as her friend threw her arms round her.

"That's right, my poor child," Mrs. Barker said. "A cry will do you good. Thank God, my dear Kate, for your rescue."

"I do indeed, Mrs. Barker. It seems almost a miracle."

"Captain Whitney seems to spring out of the ground, whenever he's wanted. He seems hurt badly. The constable said it was a broken collarbone, but it must be something a good deal worse than that."

"Oh, don't say so, Mrs. Barker, after what he's done for me. If he were to die!"

"There, there, don't tremble so, child. We must hope that it is not so bad as that; but he would hardly be looking so bad as he does, for only a broken collarbone. My husband broke his—one day the horse ran away with him, among some trees—and he was up and about again, in a day or two.

"Is he badly hurt, do you think, John?" she asked her husband, who was kneeling beside Reuben.

"I hope not," the settler said. "He ought not to be like this, only from a wound in the collarbone; but of course it may have glanced down, and done some internal mischief. I am inclined to think that it is extreme exhaustion, as much as anything—the reaction after a tremendous nervous excitement."

"He has ridden a hundred and fifty miles, since yesterday morning," Kate said, "and has had two fights, besides this. Directly he knew that the leader of the bush rangers had escaped, he came on by himself."

"Oh! They caught the bush rangers, did they?" Mr. Barker said, joyfully. "I was afraid, by his getting back here so soon, that they must have missed them somehow, and found they were on the wrong scent.

"And he has ridden all the way back, has he? A very zealous officer, Miss Ellison, a very zealous young officer, indeed."

But Kate was too anxious, and shaken, to mark the significance of Mr. Barker's tone.

"Don't tease her," his wife said, in a low voice. "She is terribly upset and shaken, and can hardly stand.

"Ah! What is that?"

The interruption was caused by a low groan from the fallen bush ranger.

"Shoot him dead, sah," Jim, who was supporting his master's head, exclaimed. "Don't let dat fellow come 'live no longer."

"I can't do that, Jim," Mr. Barker said, moving towards the fallen man. "The man is a thorough scoundrel, a murderer, and a robber; but he is harmless now. One cannot wish he should recover, even for his own sake; for there is enough against him to hang him, ten times over. However, we must do what we can for the poor wretch."

So saying, he mixed some brandy with a little water in the cup, and poured it between the bush ranger's lips.

"Is it mortal?" Mrs. Barker asked, as he rejoined her.

"I think so," he said. "I fancy he is shot through the lungs.

"You must really sit down, Miss Ellison. You look as white as a ghost, and we cannot have you on our hands, just now. We have got them pretty full, as they are.

"Ah! Here comes the cart."

The constable had put a quantity of straw in the bottom of the light cart, and Barker and Jim raised Reuben, and laid him in it.

"We must take the other, too," Mr. Barker said. "The man is alive, and we can't leave him here."

"Yes," Kate said; "he must go, too. He did Reuben a great wrong, years ago. I hope he will confess it, before he dies."

Mr. Barker glanced at his wife, as Kate used the young officer's Christian name; but she was not thinking of Captain Whitney of the police, but of the boy Reuben, who had been accused of poisoning her father's dog, and of committing a burglary from his house.

"You had better get up in front, with the constable, Miss Ellison," the settler said, when the two wounded men had been placed in the cart. "You certainly are not fit to ride.

"Or, look here, the constable shall take my horse, and I will drive; and then I can look after you, and you can use me for a prop, if you feel weak; but before we start, I must insist on your taking a sip of brandy and water.

"It is no use your saying no," he persisted, as the girl shook her head. "We shall have you fainting before you get home, if you don't."

Kate did as she was ordered. Mr. Barker then helped her up to her seat. As she got up, her eyes fell upon Reuben's face.

"Oh, Mr. Barker!" she said. "He looks dead. You are not deceiving me, are you?"

"Bless me, no!" the settler said, cheerfully. "My opinion is that he's dead asleep. The loss of blood, the sudden reaction after the long excitement, and the exhaustion of his ride have completely overcome him; and my opinion is that he is sound asleep.

"Jim, do you lead your master's horse, while the constable takes the other; and then you two had better ride on, and help Mrs. Donald get things ready. Get a bed up at once, for Captain Whitney; and get some clean straw in the outhouse, with one of the rugs over it, for the other."

So saying, he touched the horse with the whip, and the cart moved slowly on, with Mrs. Barker riding beside it. She would have gone on ahead, to have assisted in the preparations; but she expected, momentarily, to see Kate faint, and thought it better to remain with her, in case her assistance should be required.

The journey occupied some time, for Mr. Barker picked the way carefully, so as not to jolt the cart. Mrs. Barker endeavoured to keep Kate's attention fixed, by asking her questions as to what she had heard about the expedition, wondering when it would return, and whether any of the settlers were hurt. When they got within half a mile of home, she said:

"I think, dear, you are looking a little better now. I will ride on. Fortunately there is the beef tea we made, last night, for Mr. Donald. I will get it made hot, and I will get a cup of strong tea ready for you. That will do wonders."

When the cart arrived Mrs. Donald ran out and, as Kate descended, clasped her in a long embrace.

"Come straight in here, my dear," Mrs. Barker said. "I have got a basin of cold water, and a cup of strong tea, and the two together will do marvels. We will attend to your wounded hero."

Reuben remained perfectly quiet and inert, as he was lifted out and carried into the house, where a bed had been made up for him in a room on the ground floor.

"Just lay him down. Throw a blanket over him, and let him lie perfectly quiet."

"Do you think he is really asleep?" Mrs. Barker asked, as she looked at the quiet face.

"I do, really," her husband replied. "Put your ear close to his mouth. He is breathing as quietly as a child.

"And," he added, placing his fingers on Reuben's wrist, "his pulse is a little fast, but regular and quiet. Twenty-four hours of sleep will set him up again, unless I am greatly mistaken. I don't expect that his wound will turn out anything very serious.

"Let me think. Was it not this afternoon that Ruskin said he would be back again?"

"Yes, either yesterday or today."

"That is lucky. He will be surprised at finding two new patients on his hands, now.

"I will go and have a look at that poor wretch in the shed. Give me a cupful of beef tea. I will pour a spoonful or two between his lips. You had better go and look after Kate. You will not be needed here, at present.

"If your master wakes, Jim, let us know directly," he said to the black, who had seated himself on the ground by the side of Reuben's bed.

"I can't call the poor fellow away from his master," he added to his wife, as he closed the door behind them; "but I am really anxious to know what has taken place, out in the bush; and whether many of our fellows have been killed. If, as Kate said, she heard the captain tell the bush ranger that all his band had been killed, except one who is a prisoner, it has indeed been a most successful expedition; and we colonists can hardly be sufficiently grateful, to Whitney, for having rid us of these pests. What with that, and the thrashing the blacks have had, we shall be able to sleep quietly for months; which is more than we have done for a long time."

Kate came out of the room, with Mrs. Donald, a minute later. The basin of cold water and the tea had had the effect Mrs. Barker predicted. A little colour had returned into her cheeks, and she looked altogether more like herself.

"How is he?" Mrs. Donald asked.

"In my opinion, he's doing capitally, Mrs. Donald. His pulse is quiet and even, and he's breathing as quietly as a child; and I believe he is simply in a state of exhaustion, from which he is not likely to wake till tomorrow morning; and I predict that, in a few days, he will be up and about. Indeed, if that bullet hasn't misbehaved itself, I see no reason why he shouldn't be up tomorrow."

"That is indeed a relief, to us both," Mrs. Donald said, while Kate could only clasp her hands in silent thankfulness.

"And now, how is your husband? I hope he is none the worse, for all this exertion."

"He was terribly agitated, at first," Mrs. Donald said. "I fainted, you know, and he got out of bed to help me up; and it was as much as I could do, when I recovered, to get him to lie down; for he wanted to mount and ride after Kate, although, of course, he is as weak as a child, and even with my help he could scarcely get into bed again.

"Fortunately Mrs. Barker ran in, before she started on horseback to fetch you, to say that the constable was off in pursuit, and that quieted him. Then I think he was occupied in trying to cheer me, for as soon as he was in bed I broke down and cried; till the constable came back to say that Captain Whitney had overtaken, and shot, the bush ranger."

Three hours later, to the great relief of all, the surgeon arrived. He was first taken in to look at Reuben, having been told all the circumstances of the case; and he confirmed Mr. Barker's opinion that he was really in a deep sleep.

"I would not wake him, on any account," he said. "It is a great effort of nature, and he will, I hope, awake quite himself. Of course, I can't say anything about the wound, till he does.

"Now for his antagonist."

The bush ranger was still unconscious, though occasionally broken words came from his lips. The surgeon examined his wound.

"He is shot through the lungs," he said, "and is bleeding internally. I do not think that there is the shadow of a chance for him, and no one can wish it otherwise. It will only save the colony the expense of his trial.

"And now for my original patient."

He was some time in Mr. Donald's room and, when he came out, proceeded at once to mix him a soothing draught, from the case of medicines he carried behind the saddle.

"We must get him off to sleep, if we can," he said; "or we shall have him in a high state of fever, before morning. A man in his state can't go through such excitement as he has done, without paying the penalty.

"And now, I suppose, I have done," he said with a smile, as Mrs. Donald left the room with the medicine.

"Yes, I think so," Mrs. Barker said. "If you had come an hour earlier, I should have put this young lady under your charge; but I think that the assurance of my husband, that Captain Whitney was doing well, has been a better medicine than you could give her."

"No wonder she is shaken," Mr. Ruskin remarked.

"Mrs. Barker tells me you had a heavy fall, too, Miss Ellison."

"Yes," she replied. "I was stunned for a time but, beyond being stiff and bruised, I am none the worse for it."

"Look here, Miss Ellison," the doctor said, after putting his fingers on her wrist, "I suppose you will want to be about, tomorrow, when our brave army returns. Now, there is nothing you can do here. Mrs. Donald can nurse her husband. The other two require no nursing. Mrs. Barker, I am sure, will take charge of the house; and therefore, seriously, I would ask you to take this draught I am about to mix for you, and to go upstairs and go to bed, and sleep till morning."

"I could not sleep," Kate protested.

"Very well, then, lie quiet without sleeping; and if, in the evening, you find you are restless, you can come down for an hour or two; but I really must insist on your lying down for a bit.

"Now, Mrs. Barker, will you take this medicine up, and put this young lady to bed."

"I hope she will get off to sleep," Mrs. Barker said, when she came downstairs again.

"I have no doubt whatever about it," Mr. Ruskin replied. "I have given her a very strong sleeping draught, far stronger than I should think of giving, at any other time; but after the tension that the poor girl must have gone through, it would need a strong dose to take effect. I think you will hear nothing more of her, till the morning."

Indeed, it was not until the sun was well up, the next morning, that Kate Ellison woke. She could hardly believe that she had slept all night; but the eastern sun, coming in through her window, showed her that she had done so. She still felt bruised and shaken all over, but was otherwise herself again. She dressed hastily, and went downstairs.

"That's right, my dear," Mrs. Barker, who was already busy in the kitchen, said. "You look bonny, and like yourself."

"How are my brother and Captain Whitney?" Kate asked.

"I don't think Mr. Donald is awake, yet," Mrs. Barker replied; "but Captain Whitney has just gone out to the shed, with my husband and the surgeon."

"Gone out to the shed!" Kate repeated, in astonishment.

"Yes, my dear. That poor wretch out there is going fast. He recovered consciousness about two hours ago. The constable was sitting up with him. He asked for water, and then lay for some time, quite quiet.

"Then he said, 'Am I dreaming, or was it Reuben Whitney I fought with?'

"'Yes, it was Captain Reuben Whitney, our inspector,' the constable replied.

"For a time he lay quiet again, and then said: 'I want to see him.'

"The constable told him he was asleep, and couldn't be woke.

"'Is he badly wounded?' the man asked. 'I know I hit him.'

"'Not very badly, I hope,' the constable answered.

"'When he wakes ask him to come to me,' the man said. 'I know I am dying, but I want to see him first. If he can't come, let somebody else come.'

"The constable came in and roused the doctor, who went out and saw him, and said he might live three or four hours yet.

"Soon afterwards, just as the sun rose, Jim came out, to say that his master was awake. Mr. Ruskin went in to him and examined his wound, and probed the course of the bullet. It had lodged down just at the bottom of the shoulder bone. I am glad to say he was able to get it out. When he had done, he told his patient what the bush ranger had said; and Captain Whitney insisted upon going out to him."

"It won't do him any harm, will it?" Kate asked anxiously.

"No, my dear, or Mr. Ruskin would not have let him go. I saw him as he went out, and shook hands with him and, except that nasty bandage over his face, he looked quite himself again. As I told you, a broken collarbone is a mere nothing and, now we know where the bullet went and have got it out, there is no occasion for the slightest anxiety.

"Here they come again, so you can judge for yourself."

A very few words passed between Reuben and Kate; for Mrs. Barker, who saw how nervous the girl was, at once began to ask him questions about what the bush ranger had said.

"He has made a confession, Mrs. Barker, which your husband has written down, and Mr. Ruskin and Smithson have signed. It is about a very old story, in which I was concerned when a boy; but it is a great gratification for me to have it cleared up, at last. I was accused of poisoning a dog, belonging to Miss Ellison's father; and was tried for a burglary, committed on the premises, and was acquitted, thanks only to Miss Ellison's influence, exerted on my behalf—

"I fear," he said with a slight smile, "somewhat illegally.

"However, the imputation would have rested on me all my life, if it had not been for Thorne's confession. I thought that he did the first affair. I knew that he was concerned in the second, although I could not prove it; but he has now made a full confession, saying that he himself poisoned the dog, and confirming the story I told at the trial."

"Oh, I am glad!" Kate exclaimed. "You know, Captain Whitney, that I was sure of your innocence; but I know how you must have longed for it to be proved to the world.

"What will you do, Mr. Barker, to make it public?"

"I shall send a copy of the confession, properly attested, to the magistrates of Lewes; and another copy to the paper which, Captain Whitney tells me, is published there weekly.

"It is curious," he went on, "that the sight of Whitney should have recalled those past recollections; while, so far as I could see, everything that has happened afterwards, his career of crime and the blood that he has shed, seem altogether forgotten."

"I suppose there is no hope for him?" Kate asked, in a low voice.

"He is dying now," Mr. Barker said. "Ruskin is with him. He was fast becoming unconscious when we left him, and Ruskin said that the end was at hand."

A quarter of an hour later the surgeon came in, with the news that all was over.

"Now, Captain Whitney, you must come into your room, and let me bandage up your shoulder properly. I hadn't half time to do it, before."

"But you won't want me to lie in bed, or any nonsense of that sort?" Reuben asked.

"I would, if I thought you would obey my orders; but as I see no chance of that, I shall not trouble to give them. Seriously, I do not think there is any necessity for it, providing always that you will keep yourself very quiet. I shall bandage your arm across your chest, so there can be no movement of the shoulder; and when that is done, I think you will be all right."

There was only one more question which Reuben had to ask, with regard to the event of the preceding day—why it was that Smithson did not go to his comrade's assistance. He then learned that Thorne rode quietly up to the back of the house and dismounted, then went to the stable, where Smithson was asleep—having been on guard during the night—and pushed a piece of wood under the latch of the door, so that it could not be raised. Having thus securely fastened Smithson in, he had gone to the front of the house, and had apparently shot down the constable there before the latter was aware of his presence.

Smithson, awakened by the shot, tried in vain to get out; and was only released by Mrs. Barker, when she recovered from the effect of the stunning blow which the bush ranger had struck her. He had then mounted at once, and followed in pursuit.

In the afternoon the party returned from the bush, having experienced no further molestation from the natives. Nothing occurred to interfere with the progress of Reuben's wound and, in the course of a fortnight, he was again able to resume his duties.

The complete destruction of the gang of bush rangers, and the energy with which they had been pursued into the very heart of the bush country, made a vast sensation in the colony; and Reuben gained great credit, and instant promotion for his conduct.

A month after the return of the party from the bush, Mr. Donald was about again and, as the danger was now past, he abandoned his idea of selling his property. The course which events took can be judged by the following conversation, between Mrs. Donald and her sister, three months later.

"Well, Kate, after all he has done for us, of course I have nothing to say against it; and I don't suppose you would mind, if I had. Still, I do think you might have done better."

"I could not have done better," Kate said hotly, "not if I had had the pick of the whole colony."

"Well, not in one way, my dear; for you know that, personally, I like him almost as well as you do. Still, I do think it is a little unfortunate that we ever knew him before."

"And I think it's extremely fortunate," Kate said stoutly. "If it hadn't been that he had known us before, and cared for me—he says worshipped, but that's nonsense—ever since I was a child, he would never have made that terrible ride, and I—"

"Oh, don't talk about it, Kate; it's too dreadful even to think of now.

"Well, my dear, no doubt it's all for the best," Alice said philosophically. "At any rate, you are quite happy, and he is a noble fellow. But I hope, for your sake, that he won't stay in the police. It would be dreadful for you when he was riding about, hunting after bush rangers and blacks; for you know, my dear, there are plenty of others left in the colony."

"I told him so yesterday," Kate said shyly. "I said, of course, that I didn't want to influence him."

Alice broke into a laugh.

"You little goose, as if what you say doesn't influence him."

Three weeks later, Reuben received a letter from Mr. Hudson.

"My dear Whitney, I am glad to hear, from you, that you are engaged to be married; and the circumstances which you tell me of make it a most interesting affair. If I were you, I should cut the constabulary. I enclose a paper from Wilson, giving you three weeks' leave. Come down to Sydney at once, and talk it over with me. You know I regard you as my son, and I am going to have a voice in the matter."

Reuben went down to Sydney and, after ascertaining his views, Mr. Hudson went into town and forthwith arranged for the purchase, for him, of a partnership in the chief engineering firm in the town. When he told Captain Wilson what he had done, the latter declared that he had robbed the colony of its best police officer. Reuben protested against the generosity of the old settler, but the latter declared he would have no nonsense on the subject.

"I am one of the richest men in the colony," he said, "and it's hard if I can't spend my money as I choose."

There is little more to tell. Reuben became one of the leading citizens of Sydney and, twenty years afterwards, sold his business and returned to England, and bought an estate not far from Lewes, where he is still living with his wife and family. He was accompanied from Australia by his mother; who, in spite of her strong objections to the sea, went out to live with him, two years after his marriage.

The only point upon which Reuben Whitney and his wife have never been able to come to an absolute agreement is as to which owes most to the other.

Table of Contents

Held Fast For England

On the Irrawaddy

For Name and Fame

Maori and Settler

A Final Reckoning